


The Shield and Arrow

by Max72



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU Restaurant/Coffee Shop, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Nick Fury really is dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 15:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 25,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2552990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Max72/pseuds/Max72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Phil Coulson's estranged husband is killed in a car accident, Phil find his life turned upside down. Thankfully he has friends, new (Clint) and old (Melinda) to help him through financial problems, thuggish debt collectors, and finding love again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for this years Marvel Big Bang, my first time entering so i'm a virgin! 
> 
> Many thanks has to go to my beta soniclipstick, as always she does a brilliant job and makes all this possible.
> 
> Also thanks go to for the wonderful varjohaltija for her collaboration, its been good fun! The wonderful Art work can be seen here 
> 
>  
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/2555024

Melinda May opened her front door to the familiar sight of Phil Coulson. He stood before her, mutely, his face a mask of nothing, dull and lethegic. It sent her blood pressure rising.

"What's wrong," she asked concerned. He looked awful, he was jacketless, the fabric of his shirt wrinkled and... She would have to say grubby. The cuff were undone the sleeves showing tell tell signs of creases that signified being rolled up, not unusual for Phil, especially when he was stressed. The difference here was the casual way they had been pulled down without being re-fastened. 

She tried to think back to when she had seen him last, it must have been Saturday lunch time, Phil had taken a rare night off, he had been fine then. It was Monday morning now, Sunday being her day off. Since then something big must have happened to reduce her usually stoic boss to the crumpled figure now before her.

"Nick... he-s dead," he looked up with tears in his eyes. 

"What..." She moved forward and reached for him, he came into her arms willingly which was the biggest tell of his emotional state. She kicked the door shut with her foot.

"Car accident, early hours of Sunday morning, I've spent the whole time at the hospital," the last few words were sobbed out of the man, "but there was nothing they could do," May held on tight as he fell apart. 

Nick Fury had been Phil's husband and long time partner in all things until recently. Fury, the bastard had broken it off four months ago, leaving Phil devastated. If May were honest she had never really liked Fury, he had been controlling and overbearing, especially in his relation with the man in front of her. In her opinion, her best friend was too good for him but they had been together a long time, longer than the time they had been friends even. 

Over the last few months she had seen Phil withdraw into himself and she hadn't like it but she felt sure he could work his way out of it and find someone 'better'.

One of the major problems had been that Fury and Coulson were business partners in the restaurant, it hadn't helped with the break up there was nothing clean about it. 

Phil was the peoples man, he basically ran the restaurant day to day. Fury, never one to get his hands dirty was the money man; he had done the accountancy and kept things afloat but with the split things had been very strained between them and May suspected that Phil had backed away from as much contact with the man as he could. Coulson had told her a few months back, that Fury was refusing to allow Phil to upgrade some of the equipment in the kitchens. When Phil had asked the imposing man if he could buy Nick's share out, the door had pretty much physically and metaphorically been slammed in his face, which left Coulson's hands pretty much tied with all the contracts. 

She lead him over to the couch and sat down beside him as he rested his head on her shoulder, he looked a mess, for all the crap Fury had thrown at him he'd still had feelings for the jerk (May winced internally it didn't seem quite right calling him a jerk now he was dead but he was every bit that while he was alive). He'd passed up the best guy he could ever expect to find and left him on the scrap heap still expecting him to run the business that he took a large percentage of the profits from. All the while he ran around like a playboy, dressed up to the nines in a mix of gangster and daddy kink leather tench coat, and Phil had to work like a dog just to keep everything ticking over. 

"Have you slept?" May asked gently.

He shook his head. 

"I'm going to get you a cup of tea and then you can stretch out on the couch for a few hours okay?" She would offer him her bed, but she knew it was pointless, he was an old fashioned guy like that, he wouldn't take it.

He roused a little by her side and croaked, " I need to go and open up."

"No Phil, not today, I'll call Skye she can go and put a notice on the door."

"We can't afford to lose the customers, May."

"One day isn't going to break the bank Phil, and I won't go demanding a paycheck for today if that helps."

He smiled slightly, and nodded, he looked terribly tired and May suspected he really wouldn't have the energy to move if he tried.

She left him sitting staring out completely stunned by what had happened. She put some water on to boil, shut the kitchen door, picked up the phone and quickly dialled Skye's number. It only rang twice before Skye's bright and cheery voice answered.  
...

"Yo May, what can I do for you today."

"Skye."

The young girl picked up the tone straight away and sobered, "What's wrong?"

"Skye, I need you to go to the restaurant and put a sign on the door that we aren't opening today."

"Shit, what's happened, we never close. Is it AC?" She pleaded.

"Skye," she said quietly conscious of the man in the other room. "Phil is here with me, he's okay, but Nick was killed in a car crash yesterday."

"Oh God," Skye repeated in not much more than a hiss. "Is... Phil is he okay, no, god that's a stupid question is there anything I can do?"

"Ah, perhaps you could let the others know, be careful with Jemma, I think she was one of the few of us that actually liked the guy," she tried not to sound too bitter. 

"Of course. I can do that. Can I... Maybe... Come around later, I take it AC is staying with you?" She asked using the nickname that only Skye used for Phil. 

It had come about a couple of years ago when Phil and Fury had stopped by on their way to some swanky do that Nick was dragging his husband to at one of the more upmarket casino's in town. The staff had listened all day to how it really wasn't Phil's scene but Nick had apparently insisted it was good PR and networking was the name of the game these days. The restaurant was very much Phil's baby, so no one was that surprised that Phil drop in on the way to their night out. He had walked in wearing a tux, and Skye's, well let's face it, every woman's eyes in the restaurant had pretty much popped out at the sight. He had looked stunning, and Skye had immediate swooned, and jokingly said, "Oh... my...god... its James Bond."

He had laughed and jested back, "That's Agent Coulson to you Skye."

"Oh, AC you've made all the ladies go weak at the knees." She loved teasing him and sure enough she gotten a little blush and head dip out of him. 

Fury had been miserable as always (really Skye couldn't understand what Phil saw in the guy, but he clearly adored him, otherwise he won't put up with the way he was treated by the man.) Fury had frequently looked at his watch and then grumbled, "Hurry up Phil, we are going to be late, I only agreed to come in here to stop you whining so much." Skye had shot the man an irritated glare, he ignored her as he usually did all the staff apart from May, who Skye felt, had the measure of the man, and for some reason he didn't fuck with her. When she had turned back to Phil he had looked deflated, but mumbled about just checking in the kitchen. Skye hadn't seen them leave, but the AC nickname had stuck. 

She was brought back to present when May said worriedly, "I'll give you a ring and let you know what's going on, right now I've persuaded him to lay down on the couch. It happened early yesterday morning, Skye, from what little information he has given up I think he's been at the hospital ever since, he looks wrecked."

"Poor Phil." She muttered sadly, "I'll get to the restaurant now and get in touch with the others let them know what's going on and not to bother either of you."

"Thanks Skye, I'll speak to you later."

...

May replace the phone on the charger and sighed, Skye was a good girl, Phil and her had warmed to each other straight off, she was damn good at her job too. Apart from herself and Phil of course, she was the only other full time member of staff Phil had employed, everyone else was on a part time contract, which suited most of them as they tended to be students working through college. May herself had been very sceptical about the girl, she had practically come off the streets and on first look she had been wild and brash. Typically of Coulson, he had seen something in her, had nurtured her, moulded her into the job, and May conceded that she would make a fine manager one day. She already ran front of house efficiently and had paid back Coulson in spades with her work ethic and loyalty.

May finished off the tea and head back into the other room two cups balanced in one hand. Phil was exactly as she had left him and when she came around the chair he looked up at her with a rather watery smile and took one of the cups with his two hands as she offered it to him. She went and sat in the chair by the couch. She wanted to drink her tea quickly and then get him to settle down for a few hours sleep, hopefully.

She watched as he stared at the hot liquid making no effort to actually drink it, "You okay Phil?" She knew the answer of course, but she really just wanted to hear him speak, he wasn't an overly talkative man at the best of times but he wasn't a quiet one either, he had a tendency to babble in an utterly charming way, although he had definitely been more reserved since his marriage breakup, but he was still as warm and generous with his time as ever. She loved him dearly and would always stick by him, he was an odd mix of strength and vulnerability, the brother she never had.

"Tired," he sighed. 

"Drink your tea, I've spoken to Skye, she's going to sort out the restaurant, you don't need to worry about that, okay?"

He quirked his lips up at her, "Yes ma'am."

"Good boy," she jested back. She grew serious, “I don't remember either of you mentioned anyone, did he have any family?"

"No, both his parents were long gone, no siblings," he sighed, "I'll have to deal with the arrangements."

Melinda could cry for him, it didn't seem fair that he was going to have to sort out his estranged husbands estate, nevertheless, they had still been business partners so she supposed that a lot of it would have tied Phil in anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Yesterday the funeral had been a quiet affair, the staff of Shield had all attended, more out of respect to Phil than the man whom they were burying. May and Skye had stood on either side of Phil, but he had held himself together, sombre of course but in control. There had been a handful of others, mostly people neither Skye or Melinda knew. Phil seemed to know a lot of them, old friends, a couple of neighbours, but when questioned about a few of the men standing round Phil had simply shook his head, they hadn't hung around either disappearing before anyone could question them. The majority of the mourners had no idea that Nick and Phil had split. Phil didn't take the time to correct most of them, tired of explaining.   
...

He would be back to work today. The preparation was well on the way for this evening's covers in the kitchen. Phil would usually help May in this, but he had been called into the lawyers to discuss what the situation for the restaurant was now that Nick was gone. May knew that Coulson was worried. Mind you, Phil was a natural worrier, he had told her that they had made a ‘Will’ together. They'd left everything to each other but Phil had no idea if Nick had changed his. He'd admitted to her he'd done nothing about changing his. It would be good to get the situation finalised anyway.

May looked at her watch, Skye, Jemma and Fitz were all on tonight plus Antoine, who would be in with her, they had a busy night of bookings to come, SHIELD had been going from strength to strength in the last year, they had picked up some outstanding reviews in the last few months alone, Melinda won't boast but she knew her food was good, very good. She also knew a good restaurant was more than just competent cooking and Phil ran a tight ship, the staff were well trained and capable. 

She heard the door open, and presumed it was Trip, she had called him in early to help with the prep seeing as Phil was missing but actually she was on top of it. She didn't mind though, Antoine was a good guy, he had an easy charm about him that made working with him a pleasure. Even more so than when they had Ward working for them, his name still left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. He had just up and left them completely in the lurch for another restaurant newly opened down the road, he had been basically poached by the lure of more money and getting up the ladder faster (because Ward had seen that May was in this for the long haul, as long as Coulson was there so was Melinda). Ward had ambitions and honestly May couldn't blame him for that, what she couldn't forgive was how he had just walked in one day and told Phil he was leaving and walked out again never to return. Phil had taken a chance on Ward when he had first started. He hadn't had the experience of working in a team like theirs before, it had been a big step up, and for him to throw it in Phil face like that left a bitter taste. They had worked on for a while, Phil got in earlier and earlier to help May out, it was tough on him, he was running the whole place and his responsibilities heaped upon his shoulders but she was sure he was the only one that would work with her in the kitchen, she had a reputation amongst the other team members for being hard to get along with, she just couldn't be done with chit chat, why talk for the sake of talking, Ward had actually been pretty similar in that way. Phil understood, and would just prattle on anyway not taking offence if he were ignored, the others were young and scared easily! Skye was actually picking up Coulson's habit and blurting on anyway, still she struggled with being neglected and would leave with a wounded look on her face, usually Phil ended up carrying on the conversation with himself not sure whether she was listening or not, but she could usually answer questions afterwards so he was pretty sure it was quietly going in.

It was Jemma that had come up with a solution, it was meant to be short term but when she had introduced Antoine 'Trip' Triplett to the group everyone had taken to him. Phil had been unusually wary of him to start which was the only sign of what he had truly felt about Ward's betrayal. Trip was good at his job though and Phil would always appreciate that, he had quickly mellowed to the guy, and now they shared all kinds of nerdy hocus pocus. May was often left rolling her eyes but secretly relieved to see some of the fun come back into Coulson's life, unfortunately, that now seemed short lived because Fury had gone and gotten himself killed, it was typical of the asshole! 

She suddenly remembered that the door had opened out front, but no one had come through. She hesitated a second but picked up a kitchen knife. She made her way out front quietly, she huffed an audible sigh when she saw the back of Coulson's head sitting at one of the tables. 

"God Phil, I thought we had burglars!" She grumbled, putting the knife down on the counter by the kitchen door in relief before moving to stand in front of the table he was sat at. "Phil?"

He stared out the window eyes wide, she sat down worriedly and reach her hand out to cover his, he responded and they gripped each other. 

He looked down at the hand covering his, "It's all gone."

"What?" She questioned. 

"The money, all the money." He looked up into Melinda's eyes, "All the money that we had saved together, all the money from the restaurant, the rent's not been paid on this place for months, the landlord is threatening eviction."

She looked at him in shock, and only got a devastating one back, "Didn't you know? Surely you must have had some idea." She pulled her hand away but winced at the accusation she could her in her own voice.

Phil's hand immediately went to his forehead and he rubbed at his skin and eyes, he bowed his head and rested it on the hand, elbow on the table. "God, I've been such an idiot."

May swallowed, this wasn't sounding good for anyone's future. It was inevitable that at that moment the front door opened and Trip walked in. He took one look at the pair and tentatively asked, "Everything okay, Boss?"

May shook her head slightly and stood, guiding the new comer towards the kitchen. When she got there, he looked at her questionably.

"Phil's had some bad news."

"What more?"

May sighed, that pretty much said it all.

"Look I'm going to take Phil for a coffee i’ve seen a place round the corner, I've got most of the prep done but if you can continue with the list of jobs I'd appreciate it."

"No problem, Chef. Take your time."

"Thanks, Antoine." She smiled gratefully, and started to make her way out.

"Hey say hi to Clint for me," Trip called out before she left.

Melinda turned at the words, "Who's Clint?"

"The guy that owns the coffee shop," he smiled, "Haven't you been in there before?"

"No can't say I have."

"Oh man, you are in for a treat, that man makes the best coffee ever, it's like, better than sex!"

May raised her eyebrows.

"Seriously Chef, his muffins are really something too, in every way imaginable," he waggled his eyes suggestively. "If I was that way inclined, which I'm not, so we are clear, but he's got arms like the Hulk!"

May couldn't help the bark of laughter as she walked away.

The smile dropped as she entered the main restaurant again. Phil hadn't moved, he still had his head in his hands. Too many bad times in too short a period. He could do with a long holiday away from it all, fat chance of that now by the sounds of it.

She walked up to him and laid a hand on his shoulder, "Come on let's get a coffee, you can tell me all about it."

He looked up at her, inquired, business as usual, which in May's opinion was a good sign, "What about prep?"

"It's all in hand, I was in early. Trips going to finish off. Come on," she said and pulled on his arm.

He let himself be manoeuvred out of the building, once they were across the street, he stopped and looked back at the restaurant, she watched him as he stared at the front as if memorising it. He loved that place, it wasn't a high end restaurant but neither was it a diner, he joked that he wanted somewhere he could wear his three piece suits without feeling overdressed, and that about summed the place up, classy but not elite. He turned away again back to her, his voice strong again, "Where are we going for this coffee then?"

"Round the corner, according to Trip the coffee is orgasmic," she said raising her eye.

"I would imagine that Trip finds a lot of things orgasmic, let's see if it holds up to the description," he said heading off.

The coffee shop was small, but smart, called 'Arrows,' it was busy too, and Melinda and Phil had to wait in a long cue to put their order in, Coulson remained quiet through the wait, and when they eventually got to the counter they were greeted by, May had to admit a very good looking guy, full of easy smiles, he said congenially, "Sorry for the keeping you waiting, I'm Clint, What can I get you?"

"Antoine says you do the best coffee in the area, so we thought we should try you out," May proclaimed.

The man looks quizzically at May, "Ah, Antoine?"

"From the restaurant round the corner."

"Oh right, Trip! Yeah, good guy, so you're from Shield?"

"I'm the chef there, Melinda," she says and holds out her hand. He shook it with enthusiasm. Before looking across at the man beside her, who wasn't paying attention at all, in fact, he was scowling at his phone. She nudged him in the ribs till he looked up. 

"This is the owner..." May tries to introduce him.

But Clint interrupted, looking keenly at her boss, "You must be Phil Coulson, Trip talks about you all the time, it's nice to meet you. Clint Barton, owner of this humble abode." Once again he held out his hand, smiling brightly.

Coulson blankly looks back and then took the hand lightly, "Hmm, yes, nice to meet you Mr. Barton." He turns to May and said, "Get me a coffee will you, I'm going to sit down."

May watches as he walked away, the weight of the world on his shoulders, turning back she see Clint looking a little disappointed. 

"Sorry, he's had some bad news," she made an excuse for him. 

Clint nodded his head and asked what he could get them. She ordered for them both and then took the coffee over to the table Coulson had chosen near the window as he stared blankly out into the street. He looked up at her and smiled as she placed a mug in front of him, she had decided against the muffins on this occasion.

"Tell me." She asked seriously as she sat down.

"I..." He ran his hand over his face, "When Nick left me..." He looked up at her, "I just couldn't understand, it was... You know you expect some signs that things were deteriorating, but when he asked me to leave... It was like a bolt out of the blue." He sighed, he eyes filled with tears but he shook his head refusing to let them fall. 

"I was an idiot, I should have realised there was something else going on, but... I was just too numb, I honestly expected...thought it was some sort of blip, every relationship has one.” He looked up at her, fear in his eyes, "I didn't close the bank accounts," his hand fisted up. "I should have gotten the lawyers on it straight away but I didn't... I thought he would be back," his words broke at the last sentence and his head dropped. 

"Oh Phil," she whispered putting her hand over his and squeezing, she felt his relax under her fingers and turn in hers before squeezing back. "So just how serious is this?"

"The restaurant is in debt to about twenty five."

"Twenty five... thousand?" She shrieked before lowering her voice. Phil winced. "Twenty five thousand." She said again sadly, looking around to check they weren't being overheard. He nodded swallowing slowly. "Did you have joint personal accounts too?"

"I... I'm just going to the restroom," he said and bolted up and practically ran off towards the back of the shop. She saw Clint look across at him questionably opening his mouth to say something as he passed him, but Phil didn't stop. Clint then looked in her direction, she just shook her head and he turned away to the next customer with a concerned frown on his face.

He was away for a good five minutes and May was contemplating sending in a search party when he finally walked back in and sat down across from her again he looked a little green, but gave her a wan smile, "Sorry," he paused and then continued, in a bland voice as if he was trying just a little too hard not to let any emotions show, "We had a joint account yes, that's all gone. I did have the last of my mother's estate in a savings account, that's safe but will need to go to pay off some of the debts."

When Phil's mother had died he had used a large chunk of the money he had inherited to start the restaurant up, he had confided to her once, that he had sunk an awful lot more money in than Fury ever had and yet they had been equal partners, she wanted to hit him over the head for being a fool but he'd had total faith in Nick and nobody could really have foreseen this.

She covered his hand again were it lay worrying at a sugar bag, "It's not your fault Phil."

He pulled his hand back roughly and snapped, "Yes it is! Don't you get it, all those people could lose their jobs because I've been too busy feeling sorry for myself." He looked away from her his jaw twitched tensely. 

"You trusted him."

"It's now abundantly clear that I shouldn't have because he royally fucked me over," he said bitterly. "Bastard didn't even pay the rent on the apartment he chucked me out of."

May closed her eyes briefly, she was a really at a loss for what to say, easy platitudes weren't going to help. "What do we need to do next?" She asked, making it clear that he wasn't alone in this, she and he were well aware that she couldn't help finically but she would do anything she could to help.

He smiled sadly at her but before he could say anything back, Clint walked over and place two more cups on the table and picked up the still full but now barely warm cups. "You seem a little distracted and it doesn't taste half as fabulous when it's cold and I have a reputation to uphold. On the house of course," He smiled down at the pair.

Phil looked up at the man, surprised, "Thank you. That's very generous."

Clint moved off with the old cups, beaming at Phil, "No problem."

Phil turned back to Melinda as she looked at the retreating man. "I don't know what I'm going to do May, but one thing is for sure, I'm not losing the restaurant."

She was immensely relieved to hear the determination in his voice, but she knew times were about to get tough for them all.


	3. Chapter 3

Phil looked around with a sigh, the dusty boxes would have to go and somehow the empty damp smell in the air would need to be tackled, opening a window probably wouldn't hurt, but he wasn't sure that the window would actually open without falling apart so he didn't try.

He was pretty sure he could get the lavatory and sink working again, he was less than certain that he actually wanted to. But he was out of options, this was what it had come too, he couldn't afford to rent his flat and the restaurant as well, not now, one would have to go and it was never going to be the restaurant. 

The rooms that ran above the restaurant, well he was pretty sure it was an apartment once in its life, but the landlord didn't want the hassle or the financial commitment to get it into a liveable condition again so he had rented out the whole building to Phil as part of his business. Phil had done nothing with it either, so it had just collected dust and mould. It was best described as horrible, small, dirty and Phil hated it with a passion but it's necessary. He would have to grin and bear it. If he were smart nobody need know he even lived in this hell hole. He was always the first one in and last one out so he could work around that.

The apartment he had rented up until now was fully furnished from the start so he didn't have loads of stuff to move, a few boxes of personal stuff, some of it not even unpacked from his last move from Nick's. It's clothes, mostly suits would take up the bulk of the items. He had a few boxes already sitting in his car right now. Once the restaurant shut for the night he intended to spend a few hours cleaning up here and hopefully over the next week he could get it good enough to lay his head down at least (not that he had a bed to do so, a visit to the local camping shop should sort that, because costs needed to be kept to a minimal).

Over the last week the true extent of the financial hole that Nick had left Phil in was hitting hard, like a sled hammer around the face. The last of any savings and inheritance he had had been used up taking care of some of the most pressing debts. The restaurant was doing well, thankfully, but it would likely to be a long time until it started to run in profit again. Suppliers were reluctant to give him credit anymore even after he had paid off any money owing to them, but he had a serious black line under his name now. That meant everything had to be paid up front, including the rent. There were still chunks of debt mostly surrounding the bank, who Phil had sat down with and thrashed out a recovery plan. He had agreed to most of the demands, but they had suggested letting go of some of the staff. That Phil just couldn't do, one because it would impact badly on the way the restaurant ran (and it ran really well), and two, this was his fuck up and he would sleep on the streets before it came to that, he wasn't going to let his stupidity ruin anyone else's life. 

What he really didn't understand was where all the money had gone. Nick wasn't an extravagant man, well he hadn't been when they had lived together. Sure, he liked the finer things, but money wasn't spent on frivolous things, which is why they had amassed a pretty healthy bank account! Or so he'd thought, Nick had really been the one to run that side of things, of late he had been using cash from the till rather than credit cards, and Phil seldom brought anything that wasn't restaurant related anyway.

But the time for dwelling on past mistakes was gone, and Phil brushed the dust from his hands on his pants and then brushed his pants with a frown when it left a mark. Tonight when the restaurant closed he would put in a few hours of work and see what he could do with the area. The restaurant didn't really close till gone midnight by the time the place was cleared out and May would be last to leave, before him, so he couldn't realistically put in more than a couple of hours, but he would rather do it at night than get caught by one of the team coming into work.

He headed down just in time, opening the restaurant door and heading towards the back, Melinda walked through the door just at that moment, "Hello, sorry, I've only just got in," he lied as he turned back and stretched out his arm indicating the fact that all the chairs were still stacked on the tables, a job he had usually got done by now.

Melinda just nodded and headed off to the kitchen, she wasn't much of a talker early in the day, well she wasn't much of a talker later in the day either but she was a great source of comfort to Phil. She had stood with him even going to the bank manager with him, and he was terribly grateful for it. She would frown on his idea to move upstairs, probably even offer her place to stay at, but Phil didn't want that, he wasn't sure she was seeing anyone right now but the idea of cramping her style by sitting eating popcorn while she had a date over wasn't appealing and it wasn't like he was eighteen anymore! That was partially why he had no intention of telling her about the move plus there might be a little tad of embarrassment even after she knew just about all his financial secrets by now, there was still that little bit of pride in Phil that he didn't want to share what he had been reduced too.

The evening went well, they were nearly three quarters full on tables, which was, for a weekday exceptional good. May's style of cooking was dead on trend, not fancy, good honest home cooked style fodder, well presented and tasting fabulous. Phil should know because in a quiet period after serving her last cover Melinda had sat him down at the pass and presented him with a plate of it, she did it from time to time when she wanted him to test a new recipe for her, this wasn't a new recipe though, he had given her a hard look and she'd shrugged and told him he was looking a little thin. He had eaten it, of course, because no way was he going to waste food, or that's what he told himself. It shouldn't have worried him as much as it did, it wasn't exactly a freebie, after all he owned the place. Well, the part that the bank wasn't clinging too, waiting in the wings for Phil to fuck up again. With them hanging over his head it felt just like when they had first started up, him and Nick, well him and Melinda really with Nick supervising from above, but even as a silent partner Nick still provided the comfort that not being the sole owner gave, that's what he missed more than anything, well that and being able to go home and bitch about people. May was great, but he didn't want to burden her with all his crap. She had come on board with him from the very start. She had her own life and at the end of the day she was still a paid member of staff, a great friend, but Phil was the one that put the money in her pocket. Not that she couldn't go out and get a better pay packet elsewhere, Coulson had a feeling that Melinda had been offered better jobs many times, most recently he had thought she had the opportunity to go in the same direction as Ward. It would have been a better job, better hours, more pay, more prestige, but she had stuck by him. It was another reason he was so determined to get them out of the hole they were presently in.

He was brooding again, he was becoming far too good at brooding. The only other thing he was good at it seemed at the moment was action so he grabbed the broom and started sweeping. All the staff had left about an hour ago. Phil now had his sleeves rolled up covered in dust and actually enjoying himself in an odd sort of satisfying way. Despite that the tiredness was nagged at him and was starting to slow him down. 

A couple of hours later he was slumped in his car, a car that was now full of junk to be disposed of tomorrow, heading home and longing for his bed. All ideas of him enjoying the challenge now gone with half a night's sleep. Nevertheless he had achieved a lot, the room was empty and free from dust, mostly. He would really have liked to put a splash of paint on the walls to take some of the grimness off the room but there was no way the smell wouldn't be noticed in the restaurant so that was out for the time being. Tomorrow night he intended to tackle the bathroom, that wouldn't be pleasant he was sure. The damp problem was still a problem, there was mould climbing up the wall, best he could hope for was to sight the camp bed as far as possible from it but that meant being near the daft from the decaying windows . For now, as he started up his car, he was going to enjoy the rest of the night in his warm dry flat because he wouldn't have it much longer!


	4. Chapter 4

Phil looked around the place with a modicum of satisfaction with some money spent to do it up to a decent standard the place wouldn't be so bad. Phil wouldn't mind living here, not that he had a choice in that, although it was small, it was damn convenient. Unfortunately, that money wasn't available, and that left it as a mouldy draughty pit. All his stuff was boxed up in one of the dryer corners. He had gone out and brought a simple rail he could hang a few suit on, all covered in suit bags, as were the shirts to stop the damp getting to them. The small bathroom was functioning and as clean as he could scrub it. His lease had come up yesterday on his old place, which meant tonight was his first one here. He had brought a simple and cheap camp bed; made it up with proper sheets and blankets all neatly cornered and tuck in, he wasn't going to reach the levels of a bag! It would have to do, it wasn't like he was out on the streets, he could manage just fine. Plus a full nights sleep anywhere would be a luxury, between the restaurant, visits to the bank, packing up his stuff and cleaning this place, he was exhausted. In the same shop he had brought a small camping stove, it wasn't practical to use the kitchen downstairs. The apartment had a completely different entrance to the restaurant, and no way was he stepping out in the dead of winter and opening up the restaurant for a cup of cocoa before bed.

He looked at his watch and sighed. It was going to be another late night, he was at least pleased he didn't now have to get into his car and drive home. He had humped up the last of his belongings, and now it was time to crash, as distasteful as that idea seemed looking around. He laid down after changing into his night things, it was definitely not the most comfortable bed he had ever slept in but it was only minutes until sleep claimed him. Sadly, it wasn't much more than that before he was tossing and turning, and beating the pillow into submission, anything to get some sleep, maybe the cheapest put up bed in the shop was going to be a false economy!

Phil woke early, the sun glare almost blinding him as he opened his eyes, reminded him, as he furiously blinked away the flashes before his eyeballs, that he needed to get something to work as a drapes. 

He made a beeline for the bathroom, still blurry eyed. He came out after a piss, teeth clean and a quick wash. Shaving would have to wait until after coffee which was when he realised that in the rush to get the last of his stuff in he had completely forgotten to get any milk. The mugs were also still packed away in one of the boxes stacked against the wall, knowing his luck the bottom one! He sighed, maybe the store down the road stocked mugs and milk. 

He got dressed, just some jeans and a jersey, he didn't need to suit up till later when he went to work, not at six in the morning. It took him some time to find some shoes that would go with a pair of jeans and that you couldn't see your own reflection in, and by the time he had done all that he was caffeine free grumpy as hell. He pulled a comb through his ever thinning hair trying not peer too closely at the skin that showed through his thatch. This place was depressing enough without thinking about his age, lack of relationship status (and why was he contemplating his lack of love life now!) or the fact that late nights now have consequences, which also show in the mirror and the dark circles around his eyes. Depressing, depressing, and more depressing! 

He grabbed for his keys and slammed the door shut on the way out. Old age seemed to be catching him up fast though because he made it half way down the street and the heavens open and he realised that he had forgotten his jacket! He ducked under some of the shop canopies as he moved along, determined not to turn back however wet he would get. Besides he would be soaked by the time he got home anyway. The hair was already sticking to the back of his neck. He rounded the corner and looked down the street with dismay there was only one shop with an overhang, and the store was at the very end of the street, by the time he got there he would be soaked! 

He made it to the half way point and the shop shelter, stopping for a moment away from the constant pounding, he watched as the raindrops bounce and ricochet off the sidewalk, a spectre of colours shining off the puddles forming at the road edge. Water dripped down his collar, he must look like a drowned rat. A body came running past him with a newspaper draped across his head. Phil wondered if it was petty to feel jealous of a paper hat in the rain! 

The man stopped a few shops down and rummaged through his back pocket and pulling out what was obviously a key as he started to open the door in front of him. Phil's sighed and continued on stubbornly ignoring the rain that soaked into him. 

He was passing the shop that the paper umbrella man had disappeared into when the door suddenly opened and a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Phil spun around, not sure if he was under attack only to find the coffee guy from the other week. Phil racked his brain for a name and thankfully came up with one.

“Mr Barton?" He said unsurely, concerned after a moment that he had gotten the name wrong after all, "Isn't it? Can I help you?" Phil inquired, looking down at where the man still had his hand wrapped round his arm.

“Clint, yes.” Clint let go quickly, “Sorry but I saw you outside and I have an umbrella in the shop you can borrow."

"Oh," Phil sounded rather bewildered by the kind offer, "ah thanks, I'm pretty wet already," he couldn't help smiling as he looked down at himself and the wet mess of his appearance.

Clint smiled back, "Come on in, I'm just turning the coffee machine on, and I have a towel you can borrow too."

"Um, I was just on my way to the store for some milk," Phil looked in the direction of the store.

"The one on the corner?"

"Yes."

Clint looked down at his watch, "It doesn't open for another thirty minutes I'm afraid. There isn't a whole load of early morning traffic down this road, it's not worth opening too early."

"Oh," he could hear the disappointment in his tone, he was a little lost in that way one got in a new area. He might have owned the restaurant in these parts for a few years now but it was becoming obvious that he didn't really know anything about the place, especially this early in the day. 

He looked back at the younger man who looked pleasantly back at him, "Coffee then," Clint said and turned away as if there was no chance he would say no.

"Thanks," Phil said befuddled. He stepped into the intimate little shop. Clint was already taking chairs off tables, he turned as Phil moved forward into his space, "the machine just needs to warm up for a couple of minutes."

Phil nodded, and started to take chairs down himself, he was familiar with that, he felt less awkward with something to do. Clint disappeared into a back room, Phil imagined a kitchen lurked back there, when he came back he was holding a towel. He handed it across to Phil, who took it with a tentative smile, quickly rubbing his hair, glad to stop the feel of water dripping down his collar.

"I got caught out myself this morning," Clint says congenially.

"I didn't even notice the clouds when I left."

"You're a little early to the restaurant today," Clint said before jokingly continuing on, "you sleep there or something?"

"Ah," Phil said looking back to the front door. 

…

Clint noticed how uncomfortable his first customer of the day looked, and tried to smooth it over with, "Not that it's any of my business, of course!"

"No it's fine, I just..." Phil had finished with the chairs and now looked unsurely about the place.

You didn't need an education to see that the restaurant owner wasn't quite his usual calm self this morning, not that Clint knew jack shit about the guy, he had only officially met him once and that hadn't been exactly memorable, apart from the fact that Clint had been all too aware of how attractive the guy was. Trip had filled in a few blanks for him after, he probably shouldn't have gone fishing, but the chef had been over generous with his information and Clint hadn't stopped him. He now knew that his partner in the restaurant had recently died and that said partner had once been his other half as well. So it was not that surprising that Phil was standing in his shop looking damned tired and run down. It wasn't normal to see him about at this time of day either, the restaurant ran very different times to the coffee shop, he was pretty much closing up shop when the restaurant was opening, "Hey sit-down, the machine's all ready for firing up."

Phil sent him a wan smile and pulled out the first chair he came across, sitting sideways on so he could see what Clint was doing and watch out of the window too, which seemed to be his favoured view.

Clint kept half an eye on the man, the first time he had met him when he and his head chef had come in, he had had an air of depression about him, and according to Trip that really wasn't the character of the guy at all. He was apparently a calm, collected and genuinely nice guy, which apparently everyone that came across him agreed upon. Now Clint wasn't saying he wasn't probably all those things but he hadn't witnessed much of it, not that he seemed horrible or anything, but calm and collected didn't quite fit, more moody and vague. Not that he was any stranger to moody and vague at times himself he had friends that would say those were his best virtues. Still he wasn't going to steal anything so he moved into the back kitchen.

…  
Phil had lost himself in watching the drops of rain as they ran down the outside of the glass, he remembered as a child sitting in his dorm rooms doing just that, imagining them racing down, trying to guess which one would win. He turned from the view out the window to discover that Clint had disappeared into the back, and from the delicious smells wafting into room he was starting work. Phil felt guilty; he must look like some fucking charity case for the guy to literally pull him off the street, he looked down at himself, jersey plastered to his chest, jeans uncomfortably clinging to his thighs and shoes that from the feel inside weren't made for puddles. Yep, he probably wasn't far off a shopping trolley full of garbage bags! He needed to get his shit together, he had let his brain wander for the last few days. At least, when he was doing the flat up he had a purpose but that was as good as it was going to get, for the time being at least and now he was sitting around in some poor guys shop when he obviously had a ton of work to do to get ready, because Clint had felt sorry for him. Shit. Phil knew he had an unhealthy tendency to wallow. He was mostly a happy guy but from time to time, things would get a little heavy for him, he thought it was pretty much the same for everyone and he would snap out of it soon, he hoped so, because he was not even saying the word depression out loud, no way. Life had sucked royally recently, he had an excuse, but this poor guy didn't deserve this first thing in the morning.

He should go.

Phil was halfway out of his seat when Clint came through again, two plates in his hand, he froze as he saw Phil standing.

"Ah, I'm sure you have lots of work to do I should get out of your hair."

"Nah, I'm all prepared, besides you don't want to put this to waste do you?" he asked as he laid a large plateful of bacon, eggs and toast down beside Phil and one for himself as well, "Need to start the day off well," he smiled waiting to see what his guest would do.

Phil stared down at the plate and then back up, "Wow, you are really good at the heroic gestures aren't you?"

Clint laughed, "Hardly, I was cooking for myself, so it's not exactly swoon-worthy. I'll just get some coffee," he waved Phil back down into his seat.

Phil sat gingerly, he was conscious of trying not to make the chair covers damp, that hardly seem fair, he grabbed the towel by his side now and stuck it under him. He tried to ignore the cold that was starting to pimple his skin, it wasn't cold outside but sitting in damp clothes first thing in the morning left him feeling chilly. So much so he grabbed the hot coffee the moment it was placed in front of him, which made Clint laugh, "First one of the day?"

"God YES, that was what the milk was for."

Clint nodded his head as he tucked into his breakfast. "You don't have it delivered to the restaurant?"

Phil's head shot up, "Hell, I didn't think of that," he sighed, "I'm being a complete moron at the moment." He companion sported a puzzled frown as if he couldn't put all the pieces of what should be an easily solved jigsaw together. Phil felt rather obliged to give some sort of explanation, even if the man next to him was trying his best not to inquire. "I ah... Just moved into the apartment above the restaurant, and seemed to forget a whole lot of things I needed in the rush of the move.

Clint nodded, "I didn't even know you had an apartment to rent up there."

"It's not been rented out before, I've just done it up a bit, seems silly renting a place on the other side of town when I can be near work, it's just convenient, you know?" Phil stopped abruptly realising he was in danger of over doing his string of little white lies. Clint thankfully was just nodding his head between mouthfuls; Phil cut into the last of his breakfast, filling his mouth before it overtook him.

"So did the guys from the restaurant help you move?" Clint asked innocently before taking a swallow of coffee. 

Phil closed his eyes briefly cursing the hole he was digging himself, but not seeing an option. "Ah, no, they actually don't know I've moved in there, I...ah... I don't think they would but I don't want them taking advantage of me being on call all the time," Phil silently sent an apology to all his staff.

"So you did it all yourself? That's a big job."

Phil shrugged his shoulders, "I didn't have much to move. The place I was in was fully furnished, so no heavy stuff really."

"Oh, so you've had to buy all new stuff then?"

"Hmm," Phil made a non-committal noise. "This is great," he said indicating his coffee, trying desperately to shift the conversation away from himself.

"Well now you are in the neighbourhood you can pop in anytime." Clint said with a smile. 

"I will," Phil remarked seriously, "I'm not much of a cook."

Clint's voice was amused as he said, "You own a restaurant, and you're not much of a cook?"

"I'm more of a front man."

"Oh, the eye candy."

Phil laughed out loud, "I'd like to think my main job is more like the fancy shape napkin folder."

…

It was Clint's turn to laugh and seriously reassess his first opinion of the man sitting opposite him, he had a wicked sense of humour and... Shit, eyes that belong in some Japanese hentai anime. Clint needed to move before he started to stare excessively, especially when he saw a shiver run through the man's body. Fuck, his hands tingled to touch and send warmth through the restaurant owner. This wasn't what he planned when he got up this morning. Jeez the guy was fucking mourning and Clint was having sinful thoughts about him!

Maybe Phil read something in his gaze though because he was the one moving, he had downed the last dredges of his coffee. Clint watched his hand as the fingers flick nervous round the mug before he replaced the empty cup on the table and then his chair was dragged back on the floor, and he was standing. Clint found himself still staring from his seat dumbly. His brain eventually caught up and he stood smiling self-consciously.

"Well, thank you, I appreciate you opening early for me."

Clint shrugs his shoulders, "It's no big, I usually get myself some breakfast before I start, it's good to have the company," the steely blue grey of Phil's eye rove over him and Clint barely managed not to convulsively swallow. He nevertheless pushed his luck to one more level, "you're welcome any day."  
...

Phil fumbled at the table edge with his hands, he wasn't entirely sure what was happening here, was he reading too much into it? But Clint's body language screamed flirting, but it had been an age since he had even been receptive to such things. Which was why he was seriously doubting that any such thing was happening. Plus the fact that he was sitting here practically dripping on the guys floor and his hair must look as flat as fuck, not that it doesn't anyway but he does know a trick or two to cover the thinning areas, which was pretty much the whole of it! He hadn't even shaved, thank god he had at least washed and brushed his teeth! 

Phil needed to get out of here because he was actually thinking about how he looked in front of this guy, shit, Nick had only been dead... Shit. He actually felt guilty for even think about looking at a good looking guy.

 

Nevertheless he was grateful for his hospitality, when he had walked in here earlier he had felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. The only contacted he had with people other than his staff recently had been bankers and solicitors whose eyes accused him of incompetency all the time, not that they weren't wrong. It would be a long time before he could look in the mirror and not see a fool. Ten minutes in this man's company had lighted his way considerably and he needed to take that with him, sure he had weathered some blows but this simple interaction made him realise he needed to move on. He grinned warmly, "I might just take you up on that, after all to quote Trip, you coffee is 'orgasmic'."

Clint snorted and choked a little on his mouthful, looking up in surprise. "Fuck! Allow a guy to swallow first will yah."

"Sorry, blame Trip." Phil replied lightly, and looked a little longer at Clint than strictly necessary. He found himself rather basking in the smile that was returned. 

Phil stuck his hand in his pocket, "What do I owe you for breakfast."

Clint waved him off, "Nah, on the house."

Phil frowned, but he could see he wasn't going to get anywhere. He surprised himself by saying, "Okay, but you have to let me return the favour."

Clint eyebrows shot up, "Might take me a good few more breakfast's to rate a meal in your restaurant."

"Who said I was talking about the restaurant," Phil teased back, before he had even thought through that sentence, no way was he going to be able to take anyone back to his place, even if this way too attractive man for Phil would even agree to it! 

"Hmm, but by your own admission, you can't cook!"

"You see though my plan so easily, you will just have to sit down with me in the restaurant then," Phil looked down at the floor the instant the words come out of his mouth, he wasn't sure where the hell this loose mouth of his was coming from. It had been years since he flirted with a man, he struggling to balance whether he felt unfaithful or excited about the fact, "I should go, thanks again," he said quickly looking briefly up at Clint, who was staring unabashedly at him. He picked up the towel he had been sitting on and folded it up before placing it carefully on the table. "I need to get my milk!"

Clint held out his hand, and Phil took it and shook the hand, looking down when Clint brought up his other hand and enclosed his thoroughly. "I'll see you around then, now you're a neighbour."

Phil nodded and reluctantly pulled his hand back before walking out the shop.


	5. Chapter 5

He stared into the mirror; it had been an acquisition from a Dumpster, left for rubbish by a builder doing up a place on his usual run route, the guy had looked at him a little funny and just nodded when Phil had asked if he could have it. It was no wonder; it hadn't even been nice when it was brand new, and it was a long way from that now. His self-respect had been a little dented when a group of youth's walking by while he rummaging around to get it out and called him a tramp. He'd felt incredibly self-conscious walking down the street and hoped and prayed he didn't meet anyone he knew. By that he meant employees as he had found he had precious little in the way of friends since his breakup with Nick. It seemed they were all Nick's friends or too embarrassed to get in the middle of a breaking relationship to stick with either. He had May of course, but she was still someone that worked for him, and he had Skye but ditto. The nearest thing he had to a friend these days was the coffee shop owner, Clint. His one treat of the week was quickly turning into Saturday morning routine of breakfast and coffee with him. Well, not with him per say, there had been the occasional time that he had sat down with him but mostly they'd just chat while Clint got on with prep. Phil was always sure to get there early before the shop opened; it was Clint's suggestion, he wouldn't just turn up early forcing the guy to open. It's nice, much easier than that first tension filled morning on that fateful rain drenched day. 

Phil stared at his reflection in the old black pitted mirror; he noticed the sappy smile that had crept over his face at his thoughts before grimacing and turning away in distaste. He wished he'd left the damn mirror where it was. 

After all, his reflection only reinforced what was happening in his life. He'd lost weight; May had noticed of course, so far he had managed to wave it off but if it continued he didn't like to think of the conversation that would ensue. It had to be ironic that the owner of a restaurant struggled to afford to eat properly. Add to that all the financial worries and the weight seemed to pour off him like the witch melting in 'The Wizard of Oz.'

Every penny quite literally counted now, and even the discounted breakfast (and yes he was well aware that Barton didn't charge him full wack) on Saturday made him feel guilty about his spending. He went without a full meal for the rest day to make up for it. He went without a few main meals these days, and it was starting to show round his waist line. The stupid thing was Melinda would cook him up a meal every day if he asked for it, but pride was a multi-facetted monster. But it was one of the few things he had left, that and his restaurant. The economic truth was that restaurants takings were the only thing keeping him from the gutter, so wasting produce on him was not on the agenda. Nearly every hard earned penny got ploughed back in to keep the place going, wage bills and running costs took the bulk of profits; anything left was gobbled up by the bank in debt repayments.

It wasn't like he could cook gourmet food on a camping stove anyway! 

He finished dressing; he put on the last of his running kit, his well-worn and battered sneakers. One good thing of living here was that he had more time to run, it probably wasn't helping with his weight though, now he thought about it, but he could always fall back on that as an excuse if anyone noticed. 

He loved to run. 

It's the one thing he took from his time in the army, well, that and Nick of course. They had met shortly before he'd left. 

Phil hadn't enjoyed his time in the army. He'd ignored his mother as a young man; she'd told him it wasn't for him, he'd still done it, like every young eager boy would.

She'd been right. 

He had hoped for a life of physical adventure, and she had seen a life of destruction and death, a career her husband had lead willingly, a man that Phil had idolised, but she had known that her son was a very different character to his father. 

Phil had thrived in training. In school he had cursed his lack of height, in the army he used it to his full advantage. While the young men around him were still coming to terms with how their brains controlled their long limbs, Phil was nimble and coordinated in his movement. He couldn't be described as muscular or powerful, but he was precise, and the army liked accuracy. The army liked their recruits to listen as well, and Phil had no problem with authority, unlike some that joined up for the thrill, and the perceived respect they would gain amongst their peers, he didn't want to look tough or use the illusion of the uniform to garner power. Those that came with that attitude didn't have it for long, the army had seen hundreds of angry young men and women and if they wanted to get through its ranks that approach had to change, fast. 

His mother knew him well, and when Phil had faced action, it was with that shocking realisation. It didn't mean that he wasn't good at it; he was exceptional at it, fast thinking and fearless, it caught the eye of many a high ranking officer but he also had no appetite for it, in fact, he had a definite distaste for it. 

Nick had been different; he had loved being a soldier, and he would still have been there given a choice but his injuries had put a pay to that. Nick loved the rush combat gave him, and he had still been searching for a replacement when he had died. 

Phil startled out of his thoughts when there was a knock on the front door. He ran down the flight of stairs and opened the door to find the mailman standing there. 

"Sorry, it's too big to post."

Phil took the large packet, and then thanked the guy before running back up and throwing the envelope down on the table, he knew what it was, it had his writing on it. Nick's landlord had insisted that Phil leave him with a self-addressed envelope so that he could forward any mail on, and from the size of it there was a whole lot, probably a load of junk mail. He would deal with it later; he had no desire to even open the thing. 

He grabbed a bottle of water and headed out the door once again, this time with his keys in his pocket and the intention to run a good few cobweb out of his skull.   
...

He was heading home when he rounded the corner to see a for sale sign going up over Clint's shop, he stopped in his tracks staring up as the contractors nailing the board up. 

"Crap isn't it," a familiar voice said beside him.

Phil turned at the sound, "What does it mean for you?"

"Apparently, it shouldn't make any difference at all, as I'm an occupying tenant with an agreement but it doesn't have that long to run before I need to sign a new one," he signed. "It's rather worrying."

"Yes, I'm sure."

Clint enquired, "You stopping in for a coffee?" Phil watched Clint's eyes wander over his sweat-soaked form. 

"No, not today, I don't have time I'm afraid. Need to hit the shower and get ready for work."

"You ah... Really love the running?" Clint questioned seemingly prolonging their exchange.

Phil smiled, "Yep, keeps me trim," he said patting his stomach. 

Clint's eyes briefly watched said stomach before snapping back up to Coulson's face, "Yeah, I can see that."

Phil shifted his feet, looking down at them as if he hadn't expected them to move, "I should," he gestured down the road with the hand that was still clutching his near empty water bottle.

"Yeah," Clint acknowledged. 

"Right," Phil said pausing before looking quickly at Clint, "I'll ah... see you soon then."

"Yeah."

Phil forced his feet to move and started the jog back home, turning his head back in Clint direction once, and seeing the man still staring back at him. He sighed a little between breaths, soaked to the skin or hot and sweaty, Clint seemed to catch him at all his most disgusting moments.

****

Phil cursed as he shoved his apartment key in his pocket quickly. He watched Melinda walking down the street towards him; she didn't appear to be looking his way thankfully and so missed he exit from upstairs. He walked the few paces to the restaurant door and got ready to slot the key into the door, looking up as she drew near with a smile on his face. 

"Morning."

"Phil."

Coulson smiled as he seated the key; Melinda was on her best morning form by the sound of it.

"Are you Mr. Coulson?"

Phil turned around in surprise before the door opened. Now standing behind May were two burly looking men. Both had the air of bouncers, standing in ill-fitting black suits and ties, shirts rumpled up under the unshapely jacket lapels. They looked about as uncomfortable as a poodle that had been dyed pink. Still, Phil felt himself swallow, looking up as they towered over him. 

"Yes?"

"We are here on behalf of Mr. Reece," one of the men announced.

Phil looked from one to the other confused. "Who's Mr. Reece?"

One of suit clad sharks took a step forward, and Phil felt Melinda's hand land gently on his arm. The man said somewhat menacingly, "Mr. Reece wants his money."

Phil looked round sharply at May, fearful of where this was going, "Look I have no idea what you are talking about or who your Mr.Reece is."

"We don't want any trouble," the man that hadn't moved said, but his tone didn't reassure, and the other guy was looking as threatening as he could. "Mister Reece has sent several notifications to," he looked down at the paperwork, "Nicolas Fury, without answer, your name is guarantor on the debt."

"What? No! Look you can tell your boss that Nick is dead, and no way am I going to be paying any more of his debts."

"Mister Reece won't like that; he runs a tight ship at the casino."

"Casino? Are you tell me this is a gambling debt."

"Yes, sir."

Phil looked furiously around, "Look, Nick and I weren't even together when he died, this has nothing to do with me and I don't appreciate being intimidated like this and if it continues I will be calling the cops."

He turned back to the door and with hands as steady as he could make them forced the handle down and shooed May in before stepping beyond the threshold himself and shutting the door on the men outside. 

He walked over to the counter, checking around to see that the two men had disappeared before kicking out wildly with his foot. His shoe connected with a chair leg sending the thing scattering across the floor but thankfully not breaking, he felt feminine hands surround him wrapping round his waist and Melinda's body leaned into his from behind. They stayed like that for a few moments, she started gently rubbed across his chest as if soothing him, they didn't speak until he gave out long drawn out sigh, "How could he have done all this to me, Melinda?"

She sighed quietly too and mumbled from his shoulder where she had laid her head, "I don't think he planned on getting killed Phil."

Phil pulled away angrily, "Dead or alive he used my money and has left me to pick up all the pieces, it's clear he had no intention of paying anything back. Hell if he had gambled it all away he was probably just adding to it. He must have been laughing his head off at foolish me!"

"No, Phil, if this is all because of a gambling problem then he was just as much a victim, you know that, it's an addiction," she looked at him sadly, "he probably broke up with you because he couldn't face what he was doing to you, Phil."

"We could have dealt with it... if he'd told me." Phil tried to think about where it had all gone so wrong, he nearly choked on the following words as his thoughts came out loud unbidden, "what kind of shitty partner was I," he looked up at her glassy-eyed, "I didn't even fucking notice that he was in so much trouble."

She stepped up to him again and gripped his forearm, and said with authority, "This is not your fault, Nick choose not to tell you, that was his mistake, not yours."

Phil nodded his head at her and tried to smile.

She continued to hold his arm and said, "You do not deserve this Phil, but I think you need to be careful about those guys."

Phil just stared dumbly around the restaurant wondering if he could keep this place afloat through all these never-ending setbacks.


	6. Chapter 6

It was a cool morning; Phil was starting to feel the difference as the season changed, a desire to stay under the covers rather than reveal his warm blanket wrapped body to the cold damp room. He dreaded to think what a severe winter would be like. He had a light coat on to walk the small way to Clint's shop. He noticed the For Sale sign was missing, perhaps the owner had changed his mind, he made a mental note to ask him about it. 

He noticed Clint look up from arranging the pastries in the little basket that he kept under cover of the glass cabinet that he served the coffee from as he walked into the place.

"Hey, Phil what will it be today?"

"Ah," Phil felt round the pocket of his casual trousers chasing round the change there trying to estimate the value of it, it didn't feel very reassuring, he should have checked before he left, so he said a little disappointedly, "just a coffee thanks, Clint." He placed the large packet of mail that he had received yesterday on the table determined to go through it today while he drank his coffee.

"Oh," Clint mumbled as he hurried out back, he came out carrying a plate with a large roll which appeared to be packed with bacon. He pulled a face as he got up to Phil's table; the usual table had changed from the one near the window to one much closer to counter a few weeks back so they could chat easier. "I was hoping you would test this out for me," he pulled a hopeful smile.

Phil's eyebrow rose up in disbelief, "A bacon roll?"

Clint smiled and set the plate down in front of Phil, "It's not just a bacon roll, the roll is a brioche that I baked, and the bacon is a locally sourced pig that is fed on acorns." He frowned for a second, "It will have to be high-end cost wise but I think once people have tried it they will appreciate the added cost."

Phil looked down at the admittedly delicious looking roll, "Uh," he stuck he hand back in his pocket and fished out all the change that was in there, slapping it on the table and looking embarrassedly at Clint, "that's all I came out with, I wasn't expecting," he waved his hand to indicate the food in front of him.

Clint stood a little taller and made an exaggerated 'o' shape with his mouth, "No, no you're my Guinea pig, if I poison you, I don't want people thinking you paid for it as well," he laughed.

Phil looked down miserably at the roll; his life had come to the state that he questioned every little act of kindness, wondering if they could see through the mirage of his current financial abyss. He kept it quiet, but he knew people talked; it was human nature; was this Clint feeling sorry for him?

Clint shifted uncomfortably, "You, eh, don't have to eat it if you don't want, I just thought," he rubbed his hand at the back of his neck nervously at Phil's reaction, he lifted one corner of his shoulder in a slight shrug, "sorry, I don't really have anyone to try things out on... It was presumptuous of me." He leaned down to pick up the plate, "I'll just get you your coffee."

Phil's hand came up to surround Clint's, "No, I'm sorry it looks delicious, I was... Just thinking about other things, it's pretty big though, will you share it?"

Clint smiled, "Sure." He placed the plate gently back on the table and sat down next to Phil.

Phil reluctantly pulled his hand away and picked up the knife on the side and cut the offering in half, holding out the plate for Clint to take his portion.

Phil took a bite from his breakfast and looked down sharply at the roll in his hand, "Aw," he chewed quickly, swallowed and looked at Clint, "jeez, this is incredible."

Clint laughed as Phil took another huge bite, "Good."

"No, seriously," Phil said between chewing conscious of what his mother told him about speaking with a mouthfull. "This is really good. The slightly sweet roll and the salty bacon is divine."

"Thanks," Clint looked delighted by the complement. 

"But," Phil said seriously, making Clint's face drop, "putting on my business hat," he said looking down at this half, " the bun is too big and I think you could get away with less bacon too. That should keep your costs down a bit."

Clint nodded his head in agreement, "Okay, Boss, thanks. We make quite the team, Coulson."

"Well, you seem to pay more attention than my chefs if you ever want a job?" Phil laughed.

"Yer," Clint joked, " you couldn't afford me, Phil."

Phil's head dropped and looked at the unopened package, and said deflated, "You're probably right."

Clint stood oblivious, "I'll get your coffee." When he came back he placed the cup on Phil table and went back to preparing behind the counter.

Phil sighed and reached for the brown envelope. He ripped it open and took out a clump of mail; he started by sorting out the obvious junk into one pile and a much smaller pile of things he needed to open. It took him only a few minutes to go through the whole lot and thankful most of it was on the junk side, he pushed all that back into the envelope to throw away. 

He's jolted out of his work by Clint opening the door and moving the advertising board out onto the street. He flicking the open sign on the door as he closed it again, "Have you got time for another one?" Clint indicated down to his empty cup.

Phil had no recollection of drinking the first, but as much as he wanted to stay, (and he wasn't going to examine the reasons behind that), he needed to go through Nick's mail privately and now that the shop was open, and anyone could walk in it felt a little too public. 

"No, thanks, I best be getting off."

"You want me to put that in the trash for you?" Clint asked as he looked at the badly stuffed envelope.

"Please," Phil looked down at the table contents, "it's the mail from Nick's apartment," he grimaced, "Nick was my..."

"I know," Clint interrupted, he frowned, "ah, Trip, he came in with a suit on one day, and he explained where he was going."

"The funeral?"

Clint nodded uncomfortably. "I'm sorry... for your loss," he added gently.

Phil nodded, then tried for a smile, "We hadn't been... We'd been split up for several months at the time of his...death."

"It must have been quite a shock to you though, and we don't just turn off our feelings do we."

"No," Phil said looking down at the envelopes with Nick's name blazed across them.

"Have you had to deal with his estate?"

Phil wanted to laugh out loud at that, but he was pretty sure that was not the done thing, "Yes," he said solemnly instead.

Clint's hand gripped Phil's arm in support, and Phil had an overwhelming desire to spill all of the dirty little secrets of the aftermath of Nick's death. He wouldn't of course, but this man was starting to get under Phil's skin, he wanted to put his hand over the name that glared up at him from the envelopes on the table, as if Nick was accusingly staring up at him. As soon as the thought passed through his head he felt instantly ashamed. Still he wanted nothing more than to sit back down and spend his day soaking up the presence of the unassuming man in front of him, which was exactly why he was leaving right now. He had the feeling that Clint wasn't exactly adverse to Phil himself, the gentle touches, the lingering looks added up to as much. Phil felt a heady mix of flattered, embarrassed, guilty and God help him, desired again. He gathered up his belongings and smiled hesitantly; he should explain more but was eternally grateful that the man next to him wasn't pushing for it. "So when do we expect the Barton Bacon Bap on the menu then?" Phil laughed. 

Clint chuckled back, "Oh soon, I have it on good business authority that it needs a few tweaks and some costing, but it's a go, I think."

"Definitely."

Clint patted Phil on the shoulder and walked past, "See you next week then."

"Bye Clint." He stepped out the shop heavily. Looking back inside to see Clint facing away from him fiddling with his coffee machine. Phil should make a list of all the reasons that even thinking about moving on with the shop owner was a bad idea, it might just rein in his hormones but on seconds thoughts it wouldn't do much for his self-esteem. Going over the fact he was probably on rebound. He basically and literally had nothing to offer the man. Nick was not long gone. Clint was younger than him although he had been younger than Nick, and it had never worried either of them. His thoughts were already looking like a list, a long negative list. His hand gripped onto the mail a bit tighter, and on his way back, he tried to think about table numbers and staff scheduling instead. He dropped the letters onto a large plastic storage box he used as a table and made his way to the bathroom for a shower (because he needed one before work, and for no other reason at all, even if work was a few hours away!)

In the end, Phil went straight to the restaurant after his time in the bathroom; he couldn't bare sitting in that disgusting room so he had grabbed the still unopened mail and made his way next door. He took down the chairs off the tables first and then settled down with a glass of water to finally open the envelopes. The top one turned out to be a personal letter from an old friend of Nick's; Phil would have to write back and delicately explain. The next one was about car insurance, no need for that anymore, Nicks car had been totalled in the accident, and his car was covered for another couple of months. After that there was a series of things that had no importance. He got up and pulled one of the trash baskets over and put all the opened envelopes and discarded contents in before starting in on the pile again. The top one was a hand written brown envelope, no stamp. He carefully slit the paper with the knife he had retrieved from the kitchen at the start of this operation. He was about to pull out the contents when the door opened. Phil glanced up ready to shout that they weren't open when his eyes locked on Melinda's surprised gaze, she stood in the doorway ready for the trouble that an unlocked door at this time of day might mean. 

"What are you doing here?" She asked briskly.

"I could ask you the same?"

She smirked, "I asked first."

He chuckled back, "I own the place," he countered.

She raised an eye at him, "A restaurant doesn't run without a chief unless you are volunteering?"

"Touché, I was in the neighbourhood," he shrugged his shoulders, looked down and away as the fib left his mouth, "save going home again I thought I'd make an effort to go through the latest of Nick's mail."

She nodded before realising she was still standing in the open doorway and stepped in closing the door quietly, "Big job?"

"Hmm," Phil hummed noncommittally, before catching her gaze, "so how about you?"

"Oh," she said as realised what he was asking, "I wanted to try out a recipe, and as you are here you can be the guinea pig." She said walking off toward the kitchen. 

Phil frowned; he seemed to have an affinity with small furry creatures that squeaked a lot today! He got up and followed her in the kitchen, thinking about new menu's and the printing cost, "I'm not sure now is the right time to be inventing new recipes, May."

"Don't panic, I'm just playing with one of the current dishes on the menu, no expense needed, I just wanted to try change the balance of the ingredients," she said reassuringly seemingly reading his mind. "Do you want a coffee?" She asked grabbing a couple of mugs down from the shelf as if it a foregone conclusion.

Phil didn't even noticed her action, he was too busy looking down at his feet, thoroughly pissed off that May had to make creative sacrifices because of the finances. He absentmindedly said, "No thanks, I already had one with Clint."

May who was about to gently place the mugs on the counter unaccustomedly fumbled them and one of the mugs landed with a bit of a bang but seemly undamaged. "Clint?"

Phil winced at his mistake, "Um, I stopped in on my way in," he swallowed, hating how the lies slipped off his tongue easier and easier. 

"Clint?" She repeated, looked at him questioningly.

Phil just stared her out.

"Is there something you wanted to share with me?"

"No."

He said it too quietly he knew, especially when Melinda smiled at him.

"Really?"

"Yes, really, we're... friends, that's all."

"Okay, that's good, that you have a friend," she looked up guiltily at her choice of words.

He took it well, and smirked, "Gee thanks mum, I found myself a real live friend!"

She chuckled, " So...," she put one of the mugs away and turned back, her eyes drilling into him, "Clint is a good looking guy..."

"May, no, it's not..."

"It could be, Phil; you can let yourself..." She looked softly at him.

Phil shook his head and stopped her, "It's too soon."

"Phil... You were separated, I know it's been difficult for you but you need to move on."

He couldn't look at her as he admitted, "I feel guilty."

"Oh Phil," she came round to stand in front of him and drew him into her arms. "Don't you dare feel guilty, my God after everything you have been through," she mumbled into his neck. "You listen to me, okay, are you attracted to him?" He nodded against her; it was easier without being able to see her reaction, even though he knew May was on his side. "Do you think he might be interested?"

He waited a few seconds not sure how to answer that one, in the end he settled for, "Maybe."

She pulled back and looked him in the eye, "Nobody is going to judge you, but only you can decide if it really is too early, but, don't avoid it because you are worried about how others are going to react. I don't know him that well, but he seems like a nice guy, and you are about the most level headed man I have ever met, I think there is little chance of you just jumping in without a care. Take it slow and learn to love again, you deserve that."

Melinda's always had the uncanny knack of pulling his heart strings, and he could do little but nod and give a slightly emotional little cough before jesting, "Damn, May why couldn't you be male?"

She laughed, "Well damn it Phil, why couldn't you be straight?" She patted his shoulder and walked away back into the main kitchen.

She pulled a board down and a knife and placed them down in front of him, "Make yourself useful; start with carrots, please."

Phil's eyes wandered over to the door, and the table that still held Nick's unopened post, he grabbed the knife, it could wait for another day.


	7. Chapter 7

Phil rounded the corner on the way to the little convenience store a couple of streets away. It meant that he had to walk past Clint's shop and on the occasions he had done it before he would look in through the window and wave a hand if he caught of the man's eye. He would usually continue on, and if he had time on the way back he may even pop in. It didn't look as if he would need to do that today though because he could clearly see Clint standing outside his shop talking on his phone. Well talking didn't seem quite the word for it from the aggravated arm waving and even from this distance he didn't look happy. Phil quickened his pace and was drawing near when Clint pulled the phone away from his ear and muttered, "Fuck you too," and stuffed the phone back in jeans pocket. 

"Clint?"

The man looked up startled, "Phil."

"You okay?"

"Sure, yeah, no."

Phil smiled at the answer and waited for an explanation.

"Just had my new landlord on the phone, bastard is putting up the rent, and there is fuck all I can apparently do about it."

"Shit, can you afford it?"

Clint looked up at him as if the news was only just sinking in, "I don't think I can, fuck what am I going to do, I've not been raking it in, but it's been enough, you know," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I love this place; I never worried about how much it was making, as long as it paid the bills." 

"Is there anyone in the shop?" Phil asked.

Clint shook his head. 

"Okay," Phil took hold of Clint's arm gently and steered him inside. He pulled a face at the machines, "Sorry I'd love to sit you down and make you a coffee, but this is like alchemy to me," he gave Clint his best hopeless male face and was please to get a laugh back. 

"Come on then, it about time I taught you how to turn water into gold."

Phil looked doubtful and warned, "Are you sure, you know May serious considers getting me to fill in a health and safety form before letting me near a chopping board." 

"Yeah, but I bet May leaves you unsupervised, I'm not gonna do that, I'm going to stand right behind you and talk you through it."

Phil wondered if it was possible for a middle aged man to go through the instant menopause cause he was pretty sure he was having a hot flash. He turned to face the daunting machines in case any of it blushed out of his face like a teenager.

"Right," Clint seemed to be keeping his promise as he came up behind him and reached over his shoulder to grab something off the shelf above the machine. Phil was too mesmerised by the strong forearm and the delicate fair hairs on it that lead to a strong well defined hand. He looked forward again! His conversation with Melinda seemed to have opened some floodgate in possibilities that he had denied before, it left him rather turned around and bewildered. Phil forced himself to focus on the words that tickled his ear from behind, "So the art of coffee is in the expresso base. All speciality coffees, your cappuccino, your latte, americano, etcetera, all start with the expresso."

"Hmm okay."

Clint guided Phil's hands over grinding the beans, "You need to control the fineness of the coffee, which makes a huge difference." He encouraged Phil to fill the handle with the powder, and covered his hand with his own, to tamp the grounds down. "You have to have just the correct amount of pressure to compress it to the right density," he murmured, Phil tried desperately not to moan as the hairs on the back of his neck stood. He wondered if Clint had any idea what he was doing to him or if he was just completely wrapped up in his art, because the way his hands move with such precision, skill and grace it was like a dance. And Phil was moving to his tune for sure.

Clint showed Phil how to put the handle in place and took it out so Phil could do it himself. "Now just put your cup under and turn the machine on," Clint instructed.

Phil couldn't help the grin that appeared on his face as the espresso started to pour, "Liquid gold," he laughed feeling ridiculously pleased with his efforts.

"Now you need to decide what you want to make that into."

"Oh no, that's up to my customer, what would you like, Sir?" 

Clint ducked his head in acknowledgement, smiled shyly and said, "I think we should start you with a cappuccino; milk frothing is fun!"

"One Cappuccino coming right up then, Sir," he pulled a face, "as soon as Sir tells me how." 

Clint guided him through using the steam arm, which was fun as Clint had said. Then Clint held the cup in one hand at an angle facing towards his body; he poured the frothed milk into the cup, bringing the cup up straight creating a central white circle of milk froth. As the cup was just about full, he moved the stream of frothed milk through the center of the circle. Phil watched with fascination as a perfect love heart became visible. He swallowed and looked up. 

Clint was looking down at the cup his face unreadable. 

Phil was forced to clear his voice before saying, "I made this for you," he turned the handle and pushed the cup towards the man beside him, his hand lingering on the handle. He looked down when he felt warm fingers covering his; he looked down at the tentative touch; he hesitated to say anything, as the fingers minutely stroked his thumb. 

"I hope I haven't got this wrong, Phil?" He murmured under his breath just loud enough to be heard.

Phil opened his mouth to speak, but words deserted him and he shook his head instead. He needed to find the words though, to explain his feelings. 

Why he couldn't do this.

"I... " he looked sadly at Clint, "I really want this Clint, but..."

"But?" Clint asked gently.

Phil looked down to his finger; it was odd; Nick wouldn't even consider the idea of wedding rings, so he had never worn one, but he had always felt oddly like there was still a band there.

"Nick..." He started.

Clint nodded and interrupted making it easier for Phil, "It's too soon?"

Phil looked up into understanding eyes; his watered not with memory but hope; he nodded.

"Is there... Do you think in time..." Clint's voice hesitantly tried.

Phil surged forward gently touching their lips together, his own pressing into the middle drip of Clint upturned ones, gently probing, feeling their way around the curves. He felt Clint's thumb kneading into the thick muscle at the back of his neck, the touch like electric shock waves pulsing up and down his body. He reluctantly pulled back his body and heart disappointed with his head. 

"Oh god yes, yes definitely. Yes!"

Clint laughed and licked his lips making Phil groan. 

"I'm going to make you a quick coffee now before I start to try and persuade you that you are ready."

Phil smiled gently and touched Clint's arm, "I don't think it would take much," he grinned briefly, "but..." He looked down at his feet, "Nick wasn't the easiest man to live with, he was forced out of the army and he, honestly I don't think he ever got over that, he was... angry, a lot of the time, I..."

"Phil?"

"I know my friends never understood our relationship, but I did love him, Clint, I did, but I'm not sure he was..." He paused trying to find the right words, "as invested in our marriage as I was." 

Clint nodded sadly.

"I'm not making sense," he glanced up with an embarrassed smile, "I'm trying to say that, uh if you aren't..." He frowned, " if this is just a bit of fun," he looked rather alarmed, "shit, I don't mean to be so heavy, I know there are no guarantee, fuck I'm making a mess of this," Phil tried to turn away but Clint caught his shoulder.

"I'm not after a one night stand or a fuck buddy, like you say there are no guarantees, and frankly I don't know you that well, I'm kind of hoping you're not a mass murderer," he laughed, "but you know I'm not exactly perfect myself."

Phil took a long exaggerated look up Clint's body, "Looks pretty perfect to me," he joked with a quirk of his eyebrow, breaking the intensity of his conversation. 

"Oh man, you are in for such disappointments then!" He joked back.

Phil looked abashed for a moment, "Sorry, I got a little ahead of myself back there. Just goes to prove I'm probably not in the right headspace for this right now."

Clint thankfully nodded, "You will be and I'll be waiting." 

Phil reached out and squeezed his hand, "Thank you."

“No, thank you," Clint said and reached down to retrieve his coffee tilting the cup in thanks towards Phil before taking a sip. They moved apart and Phil felt as if a little bit of the heavy load had been taken off his shoulders, now he needed to think about helping Clint. 

"Tell me about the tenants agreement that you have?"


	8. Chapter 8

As Phil directed his staff around the busy restaurant, his thoughts turned back to Clint from this morning. A smile sneaked through as he mused. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to see anything obvious that could be done after looking through the paperwork that Clint had received. He was no expert, but he did have a grasp of the law. It seemed with Clint's lease being up in a couple of months, he was pretty powerless in the face of the new rates. He'd left feeling incredibly disappointed that he couldn't solve the man's problems. 

For all that disappointment, he had still left with an undoubted spring in his step at what had transpired between them. Clint's quiet understanding and willingness to wait for him had greatly moved Phil and he had been filled with a confidence he had been sadly missing lately. 

Now he needed to rein his undercurrent of happiness in because May kept giving him odd looks. He was starting to suspect that he was unconsciously grinning or humming and at any second she was going to grill him for more. After inspecting the soup bowls for quality and consistency, he picked them up and turned away from Melinda May's silent interrogation stare. That stare would have you giving up your own grandmother for rolling her own, she never had to even ask a question. He often thought she should have gone into law enforcement. 

He kept his eye on May for a little too long though and before he could register what was happening the tomato and basil soup was sliding elegantly to the edge of the bowl. It teetering on the rim for a second and then unable to hold the swell cascaded over in a rush of red/orange, clothes staining tidal wave. Phil could do little but watch as the front of his white shirt became a volcanic red. He grabbed quickly at the shirt keeping the hot liquid away from his sensitive stomach skin, thankful he had put on a undershirt this morning, giving him some protection from the scalding liquid.. 

Skye's grasp of, "Oh my god," about summed it up as he looked up at the girl that had bounded into him, looking guiltily from him back to the shirt, and then the soup covered floor, her hand covering her mouth.

"I guess we need two more soups then," May stated dryly without a flicker of emotion. 

It only took a few seconds before everyone was back into action. May was already pouring out two more soups into bowls, and Skye was furiously rubbing at the floor with a mop, Phil dabbed and then rubbed at the rapidly cooling liquid on his shirt, grimacing as the cooling wetness reached his skin.

"You need to change, and put that into soak before it stains," Melinda helpfully said as she slid the replacement soups across the pass. 

"Yeah, I'll just be a second. Skye, can you take these?" He indicates to the soups.

"Of course," she said and glanced up at the table orders, "table three?" She double checked before he could disappear out the door and into the staff area. 

"Yeah, can you take over the pass 'til I'm back?"

"Okay boss! sorry about..."

"My fault, I wasn't paying attention, don't worry."

He didn't miss Melinda saying something under her breath at the words, but they were too faint to pick up.

The staff room was not much more than a broom cupboard in size; it barely contained everyone coats and bag, a small coffee making area and a couple of not particularly comfortable seats, but frankly no one used it anyway, so there were no complaints. He rummaged around the bag he had hung with spare clothes and cursed silently to find everything, even boxers, but no spare shirt. He thought furiously as he made his way back into the kitchen; he couldn't stay like this, so as he spotted May he found more lies slipping from his lips, history would suggest they would come back to bite him.

So when she looked at his still stained shirt he gave her a quick grin and fished out his car keys from his pocket dangling them in front of him obviously.

"I've run out of shirts, but I have got some dry cleaning in the car so I'll nip out and grab one from there, okay?" He waited for a nod before heading out, pocketing the car keys and pulling out his apartment key instead. 

As he stepped out onto the now dark street, he was greeted by the unhappy sight of the two men from the casino bearing down on his place, he contemplated going back but he needed to change the shirt that was starting to crust onto his skin. 

He estimated that he was slightly closer to his door, and he could maybe get in before they got there. He picked up his pace, key in hand; it sounded over dramatic in his mind as he thought it out, after all it was only a matter of a few meters between each door. He fumbled with the key as he reached his entrance in his haste and groaned as he heard a slightly out of breath voice behind him.

"Mr. Coulson."

Bastards must have run to catch up with him. 

A hand came to rest heavily on his shoulder, whether it was meant to be or not it felt threatening. Phil still tried to ignore them, the key thankfully slotted into the hole. Then, he found himself being forcefully pulled around, and the other man knocked into Phil's hand knocking the key back out of the door and sending it clattering to the floor. 

Phil turned out of the pulling hand angrily, "Hey!"

"Mr. Reese is fed up of waiting for his money." The one that had knocked the key from his hand said menacingly. 

"And I told you already I don't give a shit about Mr. Reese or his money; it has nothing to do with me," Phil said standing his ground, beyond pissed as the two men looked between themselves and him. He was past caring about all of Nick's shit; he bent down and retrieved the key when the two thugs didn't say anything and turned back to the door.

It was only then that Phil realised that he had underestimated the problem as his head slammed into the door frame. He didn't see stars but bizarrely he was pretty sure he heard shouts. He was sure he could feel blood, and he must have been dazed because one of the thugs grabbed hold of his arm and jerked it back and behind him. It took too long for him to respond, and his arm was already jammed up towards his shoulder blade sending shooting pains down the wrist as the hand that gripped it twisted. 

"You will pay up or there will be more of this."

"Fuck you," Phil wheezed out, he kicked out with his foot managing to connect to the man's shin. He followed it up knowing that this would most likely force the man's head forward, so he shot his still swimming head back till it made a decent contact and the man behind him grunted. A steely fist hit into his kidneys, the other man Phil guessed, his legs wobbled. His head was smashed into the door again, and Phil knew for sure that there was blood from the first hit now because of the rather muffled wet sound as his head impacted against the paintwork again. The voices had started again, perhaps his bruised brain was making it up, but the voice sounded a hell of a lot closer this time and familiar.

"I've called the cops, you guys better back off, I'm warning you. I can use this."

It seemed to do the trick though because with one last push into the door and another threat to pay up, the two backed away and Phil could sink into the door rather than being pinned to it. He stayed that way cataloguing his injuries, cut head, but it wasn't pouring with blood so it might just be more of a graze, it felt like it was just above his right eye, so no way of hiding that! The kidney punch had hurt but was fading; it was likely not to cause too much damage although peeing blood was likely in his experience. His arm muscles screamed out a bit where they had been stretched, but all in all he was fine. Well, sort of, he felt sick every time he moved his head, and his knees were definitely wobbly and he hadn't managed to pull away from the door as yet.

His guardian angel had arrived, pounding heavy feet suggested he had ran to his rescue although it was entirely plausible that he had arrived on a prancing white stallion, mane rippling in the breeze, nostrils flaring with power. Phil should attempt to open his eyes to see if his saviour were standing there in chain mail and a full suit of armour. 

"Fuck, Phil" the voice said without a trace of muffling from a face plate. 

Phil's brain wasn't so far gone that he didn't recognise the voice, and that forced his eyes open.

Clint was standing next to him with a worried frown on his face and the coffee shop owner was standing next to him with an honest to god bow and fucking bow and arrow. Phil's eyes widened and tracked around, but there wasn't a horse in sight, thank god. Otherwise, he would be questioning how hard he had hit his head. 

Clint reached out to take a hold of Phil's arm, and he realised he was wavering a little from side to side. 

"Are you alright?"

"Hmm, yeah, sure," Phil mumbled still looking at the weapon in Clint's hands.

The man obviously noticed and explained, "I was on the way to practice at the range on my way home. Talking of which, are you okay for a second if I go pick up my case? I just unpacked it quickly and left it down the street when I saw what was happening."

Phil nodded numbly, his blurry eyes not able to focus on the man's ass as he sprinted quickly away, which was a shame.

When Clint picked it up and turned back towards him, Phil felt his cheeks colour up, and he swiftly started to look around for the key to the door. He located it and bent down to pick it up but overestimated his balance and probably would toppled over if Clint's hands hadn't wrapped round Phil from the back and started to pull him upright, his fingers made a final effort and snagged the keys as he was pulled up. He grinned ridiculously, punch drunk, holding the keys up triumphantly.

It was infectious, as Clint started to grin back at him and said, "You're an idiot."

"I know, but I got the key."

Clint's eyes narrowed, and Phil wasn't sure if he was slurring his words because his 'have a go' hero was giving him the once over. The beautiful dreamy eyes widened, and he looked back up at Phil in panic, his grip tightening on the older man's waist. 

"Fuck, we need to get you to the hospital." His face calmed reassuringly, "I think you’ve been stabbed, Phil, okay, but I'm gonna look after you okay?" Phil felt a hand press into his stomach as Clint fiddled around in his jacket pocket with his other one pulling a phone from its depths. 

Phil looked down dazed at his front, vaguely wondering why that was one of the few areas on his body that didn't hurt. His addled brain kicked in, and he laughed until he had to lean forward into Clint to get a breath and maybe just maybe he had gone a little hysterical. 

"Phil? Shit, I need to phone for help?" Clint tried to manoeuvre the hugging man away to get his phone near to his face to dial and speak. 

Phil heard the panic in Clint's voice and pulled himself together, "No, it's okay, Clint," he reached out with his hands and cupped his face, "it's soup, tomato soup. I was on my way to getting changed; I'm fine, okay?"

Clint closed his eyes briefly and sighed in relief and then grabbed Phil furiously and pulled him back into the hug. Phil couldn't help the squeal as Clint pulled hard on Phil's bruised ribs.

"Oh shit," Clint moved back quickly, "I'm sorry."

Phil tried unsuccessfully not to flinch, smiling to try and lessen the effect. "It's fine, don't worry."

"Don't worry. Fuck. Look. at you," Clint said, tracing his finger across the damage on Phil's face, "let's get you inside so I can clean you up, maybe I won't worry so much once I can see exactly what the damage is?"

Phil nodded and held up the keys once again with a smirk on his face. It wasn't till he was about three-quarters up that he realised the mistake he had made and with the realisation came a bout of nausea, and he slowed down.

"You okay?" The man behind him asked in concern.

"Dizzy," he said truthfully as he came to a stop and leaned into the wall.

Clint came up to stand next to him and put a supporting arm around him, "Come on, nice and easy, we can do it."

Phil swallowed; he found himself standing outside the pit from the dark lagoon that he had the misfortune to call home with Clint, the guy that Phil was pinning a whole load of hope on in the future, waiting for entry into what would be Phil's fuck up of a life. "Uh, I need to explain..." He turned shamefully towards Clint, hand on the handle, "I've had some problems."

"I kinda guessed that from the mafia types outside."

Phil took a deep breath and walked in feeling every bit the failure this place screamed. He walked to the middle of the room, not able to even look in Clint’s direction to see his reaction. Clint made no comment, but Phil had picked up the hesitation in step as he crossed the threshold. 

"Do you have a first aid box?" Clint asked quietly, too quietly; it made Phil wince.

"I'll get it," Phil responded despondently.

"No, no, I'll get it you sit yourself down," he looked around before pointing to the only thing to sit on, the bed. 

"Bathroom," Phil pointed in the direction, "under the sink." He didn't add, just below the mould that is creeping up the wall no matter how much scrapping and cleaning he did.

Clint was only a second and calmly walked back to Phil, who hadn't moved despite the instruction to sit down.

"Come on," Clint took him by the arm like a child and lead him to the bed; his put up bed that came roughly to mid shin. With a battered head and ribs that felt every bit like the punch bag they had been used for, it seem a ridiculously long way down and racked up everything embarrassing about his life. Phil wanted nothing more than to hide his head in the pillows and stay that way till someone told him it was a dream. 

Clint knelt down next to him, easily enough empathised their age difference; ten years ago Phil could kneel down without bones cracking too. As Phil looked at him, he opened the first aid box and pulled out what he needed. The silence was deafening. Phil wanted just to scream, okay you found me out, I'm worthless move on down the bus please, nothing to see here. Please don't stop or slow down to watch the car crash of my life. 

When Clint finally spoke he said gently, "It's okay, you know, I've been in this situation myself." He looked up at Phil, eyes full of compassion, and when Phil didn't speak he continued, "look you own a restaurant that from the looks of it does pretty well, you drive a beautiful car, wear tailors suits, I'm guessing this is all new, something has happened to get you here?"

Phil nodded morosely.

Clint dabbed at the cut above his eye, "I'm here, if you want, I'd like to help if I can?"

The two men stared at each other, and Phil felt utterly safe for the first time since he came up here. He mind flashed to the things he still had. The suits hanging in there plastic covers; Lola, bless her safely parked out back. Hopefully, in the future this man kneeling in front of him who seemed to be unfazed by the hovel he lived in and the restaurant; the restaurant and the staff, who were all friends and life didn't seem quite so hard. 

"Fuck!"

Clint looked up startled. 

"Fuck, May," he made a half-hearted attempt to get up, but his legs and ribs wouldn't allow for much of a speedy get away, and Clint's hand on his shoulder didn't have to have much pressure to keep him there. 

"Phil?"

"May will be sending out a search party, I only said I was getting a shirt from the car!"

"The car?"

"I... Uh, haven't told her about this place," he looked down unable to meet Clint's eyes again.

"Okay, I'll go tell her what's happened but she needs to know about this, you don't have to bear this all on your own."

"She knows about the money; I'm kinda of penniless," he grimaced, "long and short of it is that Nick gambled it away, well that's what I presume, hence the heavy mob outside trying to get more out of me. It's just I never told her about this place, she would try and get me to stay with her, and it's not fair to drag Melinda into all this, she's a good friend I don't want to put that burden upon her."

Clint nodded in understanding and patted his hand. "Do you feel okay? That was quite a wack your head took."

"Mmn, feel a bit sick but I'll live."

"Right I'll just run down and tell Melinda and comeback, you should maybe lay back, don't get up." He warned hesitating as if worried about leaving him and then hurried out the door.


	9. Chapter 9

He must have dozed off for a moment, back resting against the wall that his bed ran along. It couldn't have been for long as his head thumped in time with the feet now running up his stairway. Two distinct sets by the sounds of it, which meant that a shit storm was probably coming his way in the form of Melinda May. She was going to be pissed when she saw this place and more pissed still that he hadn't told her about it. Worst still was that she was likely to chew him out in front of Clint and make him feel like a five year old instead of her boss and and on top of all that, he had a fucking headache!

In the end she didn't do any of that. She did storm in but then she'd just stared at him, and Phil had broken like a twig within seconds and mumbled 'sorry.' It made Phil think back decades to when he had been seven years old and William Page had tried to force Phil's head down the john. His arms had flailed wildly trying to defend himself and accidentally caught the bully on the nose making it bleed just as a teacher had walked into the bathroom. It was the first time Phil had ever laid a hand on anyone, and whether it was by poor chance or not, he had hurt someone and the apology had bubbled up out of him in contrition. 

May inspected his head, turning it one way then the next and then somewhat begrudged faced Clint and said stonily, "Good job."

Clint looked a shade paler than normal, and Phil suspected he had already been subject to an earful when he told May that Phil had been living up here under her nose all this time. Which wasn't fair on Clint, so he'd have to apologise to him later after Melinda left. 

"This place smells," was the comment she chose to make when she decided to acknowledge her surroundings.

"It's the damp in the walls," Clint returned, earning him another death glare from the woman, which he held bravely until May turned away. Phil sent a slight smirk in Barton's direction, who in return lifted his brow.

"You're a ..." She sat back from her examination of the walls to concentrate on Phil again, "I don't have words."

“Pigheaded?" Clint interjected.

Phil glared at Clint this time and Melinda's lips twitched, "I like him."

"I'm so pleased," Phil remarked sarcastically. 

"Was it the two from the other day?" She asked seriously.

Phil nodded and immediately wished he hadn't when it spiked a pain behind his eyes. 

"The other day? Has this happened before?" Clint asked worriedly turning towards Phil.

"I was warned."

"Shit. How much money are we talking about?" Clint grimaced at Phil, embarrassed, "if you don't mind me asking?"

Phil smiled sadly and shook his head in the negative. "No, I don't mind but I don't know."

Clint frowned, "Those guys said something about you being sent the demands?"

Phil stared straight ahead in puzzlement for a few seconds. He hadn't had any written threats; it was bizarre. Then he thought back to the attack, and something dawned on him, "No, they didn't say that, they said they'd sent Fury warnings." He looked across at the plastic box table, "Melinda the post on… can you bring it here, it's all Nick's redirected post, I started opening it and then I... I forgot to finish," he grimaced.

May looked down sympathetically at him, "I think you should leave it till tomorrow. Wait 'til your head is a bit clearer."

"No, no I'm fine," he impeached with a wave of his hand, "please."

She sighed and went over to the table and picked up the pile of post, "I need to get back to the restaurant. I'm sorry."

"That's okay," he smiled up at her as she handed over the post, "thanks for coming, I appreciate it. Is everything alright over there?"

"Yes, don't worry, but the place won't run without both of us," She smiled as gently as Melinda May ever did, which wasn't saying much, and finished with, "especially as I'm the cook!"

He nodded, and then repeated, "Thanks, Melinda."

She gave a curt nod back and started for the door. Phil noticed Clint following but just as she exited she turned and addressed Phil again, "Don't think we won't be having words about this place when your head isn't swimming."

Clint and Melinda exchanged a few words out of Phil's hearing and then she was gone.

"Didn't think I'd get away with that," Phil said almost to himself with a groan. He closed his eyes, and leaning his head back against the wall, Nick's post still clutched in his hand. 

"I'm going to make us a hot drink, okay," Clint inquired, moving away from the door.

Phil opened his eyes, "Sure, I'm a little limited on equipment."

"What you got," Clint asked looking over to the plastic box that held his supplies.

"Coffee or tea, about sums it up."

"Tea for you I think," Clint said not giving Phil any choice and started to make a coffee for himself. 

"You don't have to stay you know I'm okay," Phil mumbled. 

Clint looked back over his shoulder, "I told Melinda that I'd keep an eye on you."

"Seriously I'm fine..."

"Phil, I'm staying," Clint interrupted, "I want to," he added gently handing off the tea to Phil and sitting next to him on the bed body pressing into Phil's. "This okay?" Clint asked.

"Hmm," Phil muttered taking a sip from his mug. His eyes drifting shut with appreciation as the hot liquid sank through his body warming him from inside out. 

"So," Clint asked carefully, "which casino is after you?"

"Huh, I..." He looked puzzled, "I have no idea, uh, Chuckles, downstairs mentioned a Mr. Reece, not that it means anything to me," Phil placed the post down on his lap.

"Oh," Clint said warily, which had Phil turning sharply with worry at the tone.

"What?"

"Uh, I know of a friend of a friend that had some trouble and that name rings a bell."

"And?"

Clint looked down, "I'm sorry, it wasn't good, they're a heavy lot. It didn't end well. You can't mess with them, Phil."

Phil sighed and roused himself a little and looked down at the letters, "Let's see if there’s some information in this lot then." He started opening the envelopes, one at time, smiling tightly at Clint when he leaned in a bit closer and slung his arm around Phil. 

They were several letters in before Phil got to an envelope he had already opened but not looked at the contents, he pulled out a letter and started to unfold it with a sharp breath. He had caught sight of a roulette logo at the top and glance over at Clint, "Here we go," he paused before opening it up completely.

He was silent so long that Clint had to enquire, "Phil? What is it."

He remained silent, passing the letter over to Clint whose eyes widened in horror, "Fuck, how did he manage to build up that much debt?"

Clint turned as Phil remained quiet, shell-shocked. Clint grabbed his hand, "Hey, we can go to the police, they can't hound you like this, maybe work out a repayment plan, keep everybody happy, something like that?" Clint said hopefully.

Phil shook his head, "Look around you. There is nothing to spare; every single penny goes back to the bank as repayments on the debts that Nick ran up with them if I default on those I lose the restaurant."

Phil sighed, "I'll have to sell Lola."

"Lola?"

"The car."

"You named your car Lola?"

"No."

Clint looked puzzled for a second until Phil explained, "My father named her Lola, it was his car. He... He died when I was quite young; my mother kept the car for me."

"Hell, I'm sorry."

Phil nodded, "It should cover the debt."

"Fuck, Phil, this is shit."

Phil leant over and covered Clint's mouth with a furious assault. Clint groaned, but hungrily kissed back as Phil's hands groped at Clint's back fisting the fabric of his shirt before searching out another spot with frenzy. Fingers furrowed through the back of Phil's hair and then ran lightly down the fine hair of his neck, Phil gasped as the sensation sent shivers across his skin. He pushed harder into Clint's strong body. His hands heading downwards, fingers slipping under Clint's trouser at the waist, his kisses becoming more and more demanding and Clint pulled back.

"Woah, slow down Phil."

" 's fine," Phil mumbled leaning in again.

"No, Phil," he gently pushed him away, "as much as I'm enjoying it, you only said the other day that you needed some time. You've had a crappy day; you're probably in shock, and you're sporting a head injury. I'm not going there, not tonight."

Phil sighed but nodded, the man, oh such gorgeous man beside him was right, this type of thing wasn't like him, and it smacked of desperation and Clint deserved so much more than that. He sat back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, no, come on, it's okay, let's watch some TV instead okay?"

Phil turned his head still resting it back against the wall and opened one eye using it to stare at Clint, "I don't have a TV."

"Oh," Clint pursed his lips and looked round, "radio?"

Phil shook his head.

"What... What do you do with yourself then?” Clint smirked as he realised how that sounded, “ah… for entertainment,” and winced when that sentence didn’t help.

Phil laughed, ”I'm mostly at work in the evenings, and I..." Phil had to think for a second, "I read."

"Okay, that's... intellectual."

Phil's eyebrow shot up, "Reading is intellectual?"

"It is for someone that mostly watches cooking and reality shows in their downtime."

Phil smiled, "You don't know what genre I read."

Clint pulled a face, "Not sure I need to ask when you use words like 'genre'."

"Funny."

"Let me guess, is it poetry, I bet it's poetry, we could both sling on a couple of Arran sweaters and read to each other."

"Yeah and talk about the wild Scottish Moors and heather," Phil grinned.

Clint smiled teeth shining through before cheekily saying, "I knew a Heather once she had the biggest..."

"The books under the pillow," Phil interrupted with a sigh.

Clint laughed and delved under the pile of pillows, pulling out Phil's latest read and staring down incredulously at it, "You're reading a comic?" He commented with surprise.

"It's a graphic novel."

"Right," Clint smirked, "with a comic inside."

Phil gave him a glare, "How long are you staying..."

Clint giggled, "Is Desperate Dan in here?"

"Bastard."


	10. Chapter 10

Clint groaned as he woke from the most delightful, if uncomfortable, night of sleep he'd had in a good long while.. The man next to him who at first glance was even more compromised in position than Clint had been was squeezed up into the smallest sliver of the crappy bed. His nose was touching the wall, small puffs of air creating a wet patch on the painted surface as he breathed out.

And fuck it was cold, which was saying something because he was pretty much still fully clothed!

How the hell Phil hadn't already caught phenomena was a mystery. It had been a long time since Clint had woken up to frost on the inside of the window panes, and the majorly cold weather hadn't even kicked in yet. His eyes flicked round unsuccessfully looking for a heat source, what the hell was Phil going to do when the winter hit with a vengeance? One thing was for sure - Phil couldn't stay like this. Clint would have to broach that carefully. The mere fact that Phil had hid this place so successfully from his friends screamed of a stubborn, embarrassed, pride that could easy blow up in Clint face if he weren't delicate about it. Was he the right man for the job anyway? This... him and Phil was so new, and going in the right direction as far as Clint was concerned he was reluctant to put it at risk. Maybe Melinda could... But he suspected the two were too alike and unlikely to bend or compromise; it was likely to end in a row, and Clint didn't want to get in the middle of that! He wanted to be supportive, but he was scared. The anticipation of what he believed was forming between them was far too good to risk losing. Still something needed to be said.

There was no going back to sleep now; the sun was blazing through the windows and Clint could see a warm mist coming off the insides as the frost melted. Plus, there were no god damned drapes which meant that the sun caught him in the eye every time he looked ahead. He tried to ease himself away from Phil without waking him. It turned out, that was pretty impossible with the way the man was on his side, with his back to Clint leaning back into him and he couldn't exactly push him against the wall. He tried to gently handle the sleeping man into a position on his back but Phil immediately started to revive in a leisurely manner. 

Clint’s rousing sleeping partner spread his hands out along the sheets; eyes still closed he murmured, "Clint?"

Clint's heart thumped; it damn near pushed its way out of his chest because holy shit; one fully clothed night with Phil Coulson and the man was calling out his name. It was that awkward first thing in the morning not anywhere near awake moment, when your brain hasn't engaged yet and it was his name on his lips. Frankly he wouldn't have been offended and fully expected the name on those 'oh so kissable lips' upturned in the twilight of awake to whisper 'Nick.'

Clint stumbled up.

He didn't want to think about which name of the string of one night stands and the occasional return trips that Clint would have woken up with. Most of them hadn't even still been there for the morning!

But this was grown up in a way that Clint never had been.

This was serious.

Was he ready?

He watched as Phil, still not awake enough to open his eyes, turned over onto his stomach the other hand now coming out to search the empty, very small space that Clint had vacated.

Yes, the answer was yes. He was a fucking adult, time to behave like one. He knew what he had to do now, what he would offer.  
...

"You know if I was caught drinking this stuff, I'd be hounded out the coffee club don't you."

"Seriously, there's a coffee club?"

"No, but this is still crappy coffee," Clint said leaning his head right back from his position on the floor, his back against the bed until he could see an upside down Phil. He still looked bed scrunched, wrapped tightly in his sheet as if he didn't have a full quota of clothes on under it. Which, of course, he did, minus a shirt which sat kicked in the corner, blood stains and tomato soup intermingling in a washing day nightmare.

"Sorry, I tend to drink anything."

“Philistine," Clint grinning at his own joke.

Phil groaned as if he hadn't heard that one before, "Beverage Snob," Phil countered.

"Fuck, no one has ever called me a snob before," Clint laughed.

"Well they should have, behind that five o'clock shadow is a man of refinement."

Clint snorted, "I thought you said your head was okay."

"It is. Plus I'm a good judge of character. Those guys last night, I knew they were lowbrow the minute they started trying to get my IQ out through my ears," Phil laughed as he started to run his fingers along Clint's scalp.

"Hmm."

"Hmm? Are you doubting my superpower?"

"Hmm, are you sure your superpower doesn't involve your fingers," Clint hummed in appreciation before shivering as Phil lent forward and wetly whispered straight into his ear, "you'll have to wait and see."

"Jeez."

"I suppose I should get up, do I dare look in the mirror?"

Clint briefly looked around again, taking in the damage to Phil's face, at the little white strips running across the worst of the damage, but the bruising was minimal. He turned away cheekily replied, "Nah you're alright, a little street fighter lowbrow for a man of such refinement as me, but I'll walk out with you."

"Thank you so much I was worried about that." Phil replied in the same humour.

Clint smiled and then grew serious. He knew he was chicken shit facing away from Phil but it seem easier to start this conversation while he wasn't looking at him, "Phil, about this place." It was all he got out before the soothing fingers in his hair ground to a stop and pulled away. Clint turned his whole body round and grabbed his knees to face the now stony expression.

"Things will get better for me, I won't always live like this, I promise."

"No, hold on, that's not what I meant. What you have or don't have, doesn't matter to me but this place Phil." Clint looked around before his eyes once again fixed on the man, "You're going to make yourself ill, it's cold, damp."

Phil's face shuttered down, and he pushed the blankets off as if to prove it wasn't fucking freezing in the room and stood up, "I'm..." He stood in the middle of the room looking down at his camp stove and kettle not willing to go near them.

Clint stood up too, and came up behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders, "Look, Phil, I have a little bit put away, I was going to use it when I have to relocate the coffee shop but I can cut down maybe get involved with a franchise instead."

Phil pulled away, "What, No..." He looked down at the floor, shaking his head angrily, "No!"

Clint's answer wasn't quick enough before a sharp rap on the downstairs door had them both jumping and staring at each other.

"I'll go; I can say you're not here if need be," Clint said already halfway towards the door. He grabbed his bow case as he exited he glanced back, only to see that Phil hadn't moved, a statue in the middle of the floor, not looking at him. 

SHIT.

He bit down on his tongue because the flash of pain helped with the fact that he had fucked it up even when he had tried so hard not to. 

Now Phil was angry and Clint was... ready for a fight as he pulled the front entrance door open with more force than necessary. 

"What!" came out of his mouth before he was even aware of who it was. The silence back made him look round swiftly when no one was immediately visible. 

Melinda May stood just off to the side, her eyebrow raised. He couldn't decipher whether it was in amusement or annoyance. Clint also wasn't sure there was a whole lot of difference where she was concerned, from the little Clint had witnessed she was a formidable character, and about as easy to read as a super spy.

"Sorry, I thought maybe the guys from last night..."

"So I see," she said passively, "You're still here then?"

"I said I'd stay with him," Clint found himself getting annoyed, whether at her or himself as he thought about returning upstairs to Phil, who was upset? Annoyed? Bewildered? Clint didn't have any idea, but he was pretty sure he had messed it all up.

Melinda waltzed past him and started up the stairs. He started to follow but stopped at the first step looking down at the bow case in his hand.

"Ah, now you're here I'm going to head off." He smiled as naturally as he could muster, still May frowned. "I'll see you around," he didn't wait for an answer just turned and went as fast as he could without looking like he was running away. Which he was, in a big manly way!  
...

Clint had spent the day keeping himself as busy as possible. He had pretty much run home like a kid that had had a fight in the playground; he'd had a quick shower and change. Then headed back in the same direction to his coffee shop. He'd read through the post that had been dropped through the door which included more bad news. His lawyer confirmed he had little choice but to close up the shop when his lease was up in a couple of months time. His initial idea had been to start again as close to this area as he could. Now with some ill thought out but well-meaning words, he had fucked up, he was wondering if starting afresh somewhere far, far away from here might be better.

He had blitzed the kitchen and coffee machines, cleaning every inch; the floor was spotless after being mopped more than once, and the window at the front had not been that see-through and sparkly in months.

And this was why he could clearly see Phil, the frown on his face evident as he pushed the door open, stepped in and closed it softly behind him.

He didn't make his way to the counter, just stood at the door, maybe it was symbolic of the gulf that Clint had opened up this morning with just a few words. Screw him anyway, Clint had a flash of irritation; he was only trying to help and if Phil's stubborn pride... But it didn't much matter now, Phil was obviously here for the 'It was nice but I don't think this is working' speech.

"You didn't come back this morning," the words filtered across the chasm, soft and gentle from the man near the door, ready to escape right back through it.

Clint looked across at the couple of tables that were occupied by his customers. Phil noticed, his eyes wandering across to them and he moved forward to the counter, "You didn't come back?" He repeated.

"May was there; I needed to open up."

Phil nodded his head, eyes tracking across Clint's face. Clint had never noticed before how active his eyes were, seldom still, small flickering movements as if he was burning Clint's face into his memory. Perhaps his were doing the same thing in some last ditch attempt to take in what could have been.

"I'd like to talk to you, Clint, please? I don't think..."

"I'm kind of busy right now," Clint interrupted, nodding his head in the direction of the filled tables. It was only half way through the day after all and the idea of his 'maybe boyfriend' dumping him with the rest of the day to wade through wasn't appealing. 

And for shits' sake was Phil seriously going to dump him in front of his customers - that was fucking harsh!

Phil looked around forlornly; he looked strangely vulnerable without his suit and tie, the lightly coloured stubble on his unshaven face catching the light that filtered through the clean windows. For the second time Clint wished he hadn't spent the morning buffing them to perfection because now he desperately wanted to feel and listen to the sweep of the bristles as he lightly ran his nails along the chiseled chin.

Phil's head dropped, at Clint's words. Clint was acutely reminded of the man he had first met all those months ago that looked lonely and sad. Phil was nodding his head and when he spoke it was in a subdued apology, "Of course, you're busy... Ah... Sorry."

There was an embarrassed smile edging out of his lips and Clint watched as Phil turned his head to the door as if hoping someone would appear and break the awkward moment or that he could escape through it. 

It was starting to dawn on Clint that maybe he had been reading this all wrong; it wouldn't be the first time for sure. Scrutinising the man on the other side of his counter, Clint noted he didn't look like he was about to deliver the typical 'I'm here to dump you' thing. Clint knew that look intimately; it had happened too many times not to see the signs. 

No. Phil looked more like the one waiting to be cast aside. 

That startled Clint. Here he was all this time thinking it was going to be over and all this time Phil had probably been having the same thoughts because he had all but walked out and... Fuck... Clint realised that sure; he'd heard the separation speech, usually cause he been too polite to do it himself and if he were honest. It had been mostly the second date kind when nobody had much invested apart from the confidence to go onto the next one without a nagging feeling that there was nobody out there for you. 

Phil though, he'd had it done to him for real, and not that long ago.

"Okay, well perhaps you could..." Phil doesn't get to finish though because Clint had rounded the counter and stood directly in front of him.

"Look, I'm sorry, I think we've got our wires a little crossed here? Why don't I pop into the restaurant on the way home, you shouldn't be too busy at that time?"

Phil didn't answer, and Clint started to get a little anxious again as the seconds ticked by, "Phil?"

Phil's eyes focused a little again, and he smiled abet a fragile one and rubbed at his forehead, "Sorry, I just... I kinda thought... You might be breaking up with me."

"Me too."

Phil's eyebrows nearly hit his hairline, "That you were going to break up with me?"

"No! No, I meant I thought you were going to do the same to me."

"Oh."

"You weren't, were you?"

"No, definitely not."

"Okay, good."

"Yeah," Phil still looked a little fearful round the eyes though. Clint briefly looked across at the couple of occupied tables, they seemed fine but vaguely interested in what he was doing if the furtive glances were anything to go by. He took hold of Phil's elbow and guided him over to the table at the back of the shop, away from prying eyes. He sat him down before walking off to grab them both a drink to cup their hands around; it was always good to have something to occupy your hands in these situations.

"So... I guess we are a couple of dumb fucks then," Clint tried for humour but Phil was still staring blankly. "Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," Phil looked down into his coffee cup as he spoke, it reminded Clint even more of that man that he had persuaded in from the rain one early morning. "Things have got a little on top of me; I'm not usually... you must think I'm some kind of basket case."

Clint reached out to touch Phil arm, "What, no, of course not."

The older man looked down at Clint's hand and then away, "You should, I'm an ass, you opened yourself up to me this morning, you generously offered and I... I'm just a stubborn idiot."

"Hey, come on, this isn't all your fault, I panicked, if I'd come back up I'm sure we could have sorted it." He pulled his hand back to grip his cup, "Truth is, Phil, I've never invested much in my relationships, I've never been long term." Clint saw a flash of fear in the man opposite, his hand quickly whipped out to grip Phil's arm again. "I want that with you, I really do; you have to believe me, I just... I...got scared I guess. Not of the commitment, but because I'd screwed it up just when I thought I'd found what I'd been looking for. Then rather than face it, I ran," he smiled self-deprecatingly, "I have a track record of that."

"Well, my track record is so good. Jeez I had a husband and fucked it up, I was so caught up with the restaurant I didn't even notice what was going on with him. I thought we were in it together, but the truth was he was never interested. I got so absorbed in the place, that we drifted apart I guess. I was so selfish, I never even fucking noticed."

"That's not what I hear, Phil. I've talked to your friends, and that's not the picture I get of your marriage but neither of us is perfect, we can work on that, can't we?"

"You still want to?" Phil looked a little surprised.

"Of course I do, idiot." He smiled and was pleased to see one creeping onto Phil's face again. 

"I talked to May this morning, she pretty much said the same thing."

"Oh, what was that?"

"That I'm an idiot," Phil smiled nervously, "she also suggested something and the more I think about it, it seems to be a great idea." He was back to looking unsure again, "you might hate it, and if you do I won't take offence..."

"Phil, just tell me."

"Okay but just say if you don't want to, it's probably not..."

Clint reached out once again but this time gripped Phil's fingers where they rested on the table top. "Tell me."

Phil stuttered over the first couple of words, "The restaurant, the floor space it's pretty big. We could easily move things around to fit in a coffee bar area that you could run during the day." Phil rushed on as if he wanted to get it all out before Clint said no to it, "I mean we could keep the two businesses separate, if you like? You could rent the space, nothing heavy...but...it's too soon isn't it...sorry, it's a stupid idea."

Clint stared at Phil as he trailed off in an uncomfortable ramble, and could only manage, "Oh."

"Yeah, look forget it, it's not..."

"No wait, you caught me by surprise, it's not... I don't know..." Clint winced as he came to his own rambling stop.

Phil smiled a little sadly at him but said, "It's okay."

Clint shook his head, "It's... You know what, I'd really like some time to think about it."

"Of course take all the time you need," Phil gave his hand a squeeze, and then carried on, "I need to head off." He stood up and there was still an edge of hesitation in his voice as he finished, "Will you come by later?"

"Sure," Clint stood as well, and let go of Phil's hand. He asked cheekily with a grin, "Hey Phil, if we nearly broke up today does that mean we are actually like a couple now?"

Phil raised his eyebrows, and grinned too, he stepped up to Clint leaning in and meeting Clint's eager lips in a gentle kiss before pulling back, "I guess it does."


	11. Chapter 11

Phil slid off the back of Clint's bike. He took off the helmet, patted down his thinning hair like it was possibly out of place. He reached back, opened the box, pulling out his bag before stashing the helmet inside and closing it again, slinging the bag over his shoulder. He had been staying with Clint more or less full time for the last month, but he still found himself packing a bag daily much to his lover's amusement. Clint had cleared a space for him, and he had brought stuff over but he wasn't going to give up on his cold, damp, appalling, hovel just yet. He hoped soon to have money to do it justice, and he also hoped that Clint might just agree to set up with him there. 

The sale of Lola was going through this week. As much as it pained him it would pay off a lot of bills and where he had lived previously it had been garaged, now it was case of paying for one or leaving it out, which really wasn't right. 

An agreement had been reached via Phil's lawyers with the Casino. Repayment of part of the money would be made, when it had been pointed out that Phil couldn't be held as a guarantor when he didn't even know about it. Reece had begrudgingly agreed to a vastly reduced amount just to keep it out of the courts.

Yesterday the pair had taken a much needed the day off. The restaurant was shut because of the last minute renovations, and May had offered to oversee the workmen and get everything ready for the grand opening. Today Phil had one more surprise for Clint. He grabbed his hand as the man took off his own crash helmet and practically dragged him along in his excitement.

Clint's old shop had closed down last week. All the stock and equipment had been transferred into Shield; all Phil's staff had volunteered to pretty much ferry everything up the road. It warmed his heart to think what a great set of people he had working for him, they had welcomed Clint into their fold with nothing but happiness and helpfulness. It excited Phil in way that he hadn't been in such a long time that Clint had agreed to this crazy idea.  
...  
He had worried all day and long into the night when Clint hadn't come by after they had chatted in the coffee shop and Phil had first mentioned the idea. He hadn't expected an answer of course; Clint needed time to think about it. It was a big idea after all; it wouldn't be easy to juggle relationship and business. God knows it hadn't worked with Nick, but he had a feeling they had a chance. So when Clint hadn't come back, Phil feared the worst, because not only did he appear to have mess up a business opportunity but something far more personal.

He'd leapt in with both feet, had he possibly scared Clint off for good? 

He had shut up the restaurant and headed back to his place with a heavy heart. It didn't stop him looking hopefully up and down the street, but there was no sign of anyone, which wasn't that surprising at one o'clock in the morning. 

Phil had laid back on his bed with a heavy sigh and thumped his fist in frustration into the too thin mattress, listening as the springs protested and didn't exactly ping back into place. He'd shut his eyes not bothered by the fact that he was still fully suited up, legs half off the stupidly uncomfortable excuse for a bed. He made an effort and reached up to undo the jacket button and loosened his tie, but anything more seemed too challenging. 

He drifted off, trying not to over think everything. 

He was startled awake by banging, not aware enough to make out where it was coming from; he glanced at his watch and was surprised that it was only half an hour later. The pounding didn't appear to be in his head, but his door, so groaning he pulled himself up. He nearly tripped down the stairs in his rush to get down there once he was fully awake. It wasn't until he was half way down that he realised that it could be the casino heavies back for a bit more. So when he got to the door he was a little tentative opening it only a crack. He quickly flung it wide when he saw Clint's retreating figure. "Clint?"

The man in question turned quickly, smiled shyly, "Sorry it's late."

"It's fine, you okay?"

"Of course, sure, I..." He'd paused then said nervously, "Yes."

Phil's eyebrows had lifted in question, not catching on, "Yes?"

"Yes," Clint smiled nodding his head enthusiastically to go along with the words.

"Uh..." And then it had dawned on Phil what Clint was saying, "yes?" He smiled unbelievably.

"Yep, I'd love to work together."

"You're sure?"

Clint had nodded again, "It won't be easy, I know, it's not always going to go smoothly but nothing worth having ever does."

Phil had stood open mouthed for a few seconds before pulling the man in and kissing him soundly. When he pulled back to see a happy smile on Clint's face he said surely, "We can do this."

Clint laughed, "We most definitely can."

From that night on they hadn't slept apart, they seemed to fit together in all the right places and in all the right ways, they made an awesome team. Even May had commented on how good they looked together.  
…

Phil eagerly pulled his partner round the corner from where the bike was parked, to the front of the restaurant and stood in front of the building as Clint looked up in wonder. Phil watched as he spared him a quick and delighted glance, before looking up again and said, "Oh man, I love it." He pulled Phil into his arms and hugged him tight. 

Phil laughed with relief at the reaction. He held on to his new start in life under the big shiny sign that surprised Clint so. It adorned the front of the new Coffee Shop and Restaurant, in large bold letters announcing, no longer just 'The Shield,' but now 'The Shield and Arrow’.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Art for fic: The Shield and Arrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2555024) by [varjohaltija](https://archiveofourown.org/users/varjohaltija/pseuds/varjohaltija)




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